EDITIONS SR Volume 25
The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses: Recovering a Forgotten Hermeneutic
James Gollnick
Published for the Canadian Corporation for Studies in Religion/ Corporation Canadienne des Sciences Religieuses by Wilfrid Laurier University Press
1999
This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Humanities and Social Sciences Federation of Canada, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program for our publishing activities.
Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Gollnick, James Timothy The religious dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses : recovering a forgotten heremeneutic (Editions SR ; v. 25) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-88920-300-8 1. Apuleius. Metamorphoses. 2. Dreams in literature. I. Canadian Corporation for Studies in Religion. II. Title. III. Series. PA6217.G64 1999
873.48'.01
C98-932452-4
© 1999 Canadian Corporation for Studies in Religion / Corporation Canadienne des Sciences Religieuses Cover design by Leslie Macredie using a photograph of a Roman statue of Isis (© The British Museum)
Θ Printed in Canada The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius ' Metamorphoses has been produced from camera-ready copy supplied by the author.
All rights reserved. No part of this work covered by the copyrights hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical—without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any request for photocopying, recording, taping or reproducing in information storage and retrieval systems of any part of this book shall be directed in writing to the Canadian Reprography Collective, 214 King Street West, Suite 312, Toronto, Ontario M5H 3S6.
Order from: Wilfrid Laurier University Press Waterloo, Ontario, Canada N2L 3C5
Contents
Acknowledgments and Credits
ν
Abbreviations
vii
Foreword
ix
Chapter 1. The Dreamworld as Hermeneutical Perspective
1
2. Literary Dreams and the Nature of the Metamorphoses ... 13 3. Dream Interpretation in the Second Century
31
4. Dreams in the Metamorphoses
53
5. The Eros and Psyche Myth: Psychological Interpretations
81
6. The Eros and Psyche Myth: An Archetypal Dream
107
7. Lucius' Religious Experience
127
Conclusion
153
Selected Bibliography
155
Index
172
iii
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Acknowledgments and Credits
I
am grateful to Stephen Jones, Debbie Thurling-Gollnick, Herbert Richardson and Doreen Armbruster for their assistance in preparing this manuscript. Quotations from J. Winkler's Auctor and Actor: A Narratological Reading of Apuleius' Golden Ass are reprinted by permission of the University of California Press. Quotations from J. Lindsay's translation of The Golden Ass are reprinted by permission of the Indiana University Press. Quotations from J. Griffiths' translation of The his Book. Metamorphoses 11 are reprinted by permission of E.J. Brill Publishers. The cover photograph of the Isis statue is reprinted by permission of The British Museum.
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Abbreviations
AA AC AJP AP BAGB CW GA GAA G&R HSCP IB IL JHS JTS LCM Met. MPL OLZ PCPS PLL REA REL RPh SE TAPA WJA ZAS ZDMG ZPE
Aspects of Apuleius ' Golden Ass L'Antiquité Classique American Journal of Philology Amor und Psyche Bulletin de ΓAssociation G. Budé Collected Works of C.G. Jung The Golden Ass (translated by J. Lindsay) The Golden Ass (translated by Wm. Adlington) Greece and Rome Harvard Studies in Classical Philology The Isis Book (translated by J. Griffiths) L'Information Littéraire Journal of Hellenic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Liverpool Classical Monthly The Metamorphoses Museum Philologum Londiniense Orientalistische Literaturzeitung Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society Papers on Language and Literature Revue des études anciennes Revue des études latines Revue de Philologie Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association Würzburger Jahrbücher fur die Altertumswissenschaft Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik
vii
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Foreword
T
his study of Apuleius' Metamorphoses seeks to add to an appreciation
of Apuleius the dreamer and the second-century dreamworld in which he lived and wrote. It proposes (1) to show the importance of dreams and the dreamworld to the Metamorphoses; (2) to view the dreamworld of this novel as an accurate reflection of the second-century perspective on dreams, especially those affecting religious transformation; and (3) to offer historical background on the current interest in the role of dreams in psychological and spiritual transformation. Interest in dreams has grown throughout the twentieth century starting with the publication of Freud's monumental Interpretation of Dreams. The important role of dreams in psychoanalysis and psychotherapy as well as the large-scale research effort in dream laboratories since the 1950s testify to this interest, as does the growth of grass-roots dream work in the last two decades. As Wendy Doniger and Kelly Bulkeley point out, one reason to study dreams is to gain insights into the religious concerns of humankind. Humans have been exploring their dreams for millennia, and these explorations have most often been conducted in religious terms and contexts. Thus, if modern dream researchers aspire to a truly comprehensive understanding of dreams and dreaming, they must draw upon the historical work of religious studies.1
This present study attempts to deepen our understanding of the religious roots of dream interpretation and to offer some historical perspective. The Metamorphoses is generally considered to be the book's original name because it is the title found on extant manuscripts. The more familiar title, The Golden Ass, has often been used in translations since the Renaissance2 and is first found in Augustine's City of God (Book 18) where, some critics say, Augustine used it as a sign of contempt for Apuleius, who was an authority in the enemy (pagan) camp. Over the years, though, the meaning of this title has been vigorously debated. James Tatum, for instance, explains that asinus aureus (golden ass) is a colloquial, non-contemptuous phrase meaning "the first-class ass" or "darling donkey."3 He also reminds
Notes to the Foreword are on p. xiii.
IX
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The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses
us of other connotations of the term ass—namely, curiosity, gluttony and prurience, and additionally points out that in the Isis religion, Seth, creator of evil, is symbolized by an ass. John Winkler claims that the title Golden Ass is a powerful paradox, an oxymoron joining the least valuable (ass) with the most valuable (gold).4 Winkler also argues that Augustine read the novel in a manuscript bearing the title Asinus Aureus and therefore considered the title to be Apuleius' own choice. In Winkler's view nothing contemptuous should be read into Augustine's use of the Golden Ass. The novel's other title, the Metamorphoses, captures the "transformations" of shape and form to which Apuleius refers in his opening chapter. Tat il m points out that "metamorphoses" implies a number of stories dealing with a change in form. Citing numerous examples from the first books of the novel, he argues convincingly that there are many instances of change. In contrast, Ben Perry holds that the title refers rather to a generic sense of change implying reflections on, and illustrations of, the general subject. For Perry, the plural title merely suggests a significant motif.5 N. Holzberg contends it is equally valid to argue that the Metamorphoses refers to Lucius' transformation into a follower of Isis as to his early transformation into an ass.6 Without denying the arguments for using the Golden Ass title, this study will refer uniformly to the Metamorphoses because it highlights the transformations central to the novel's religious dreamworld. The following summary of the novel and the Eros and Psyche myth will provide useful background for the discussion to come.
Summary of the Metamorphoses Apuleius' Metamorphoses is the story of Lucius, a young man with great curiosity about witchcraft, who travels to Thessaly on business. Lucius is particularly intrigued by Thessaly because of its reputation as the birthplace of witchcraft and magic. He stays at the home of Milo, a wealthy man who is recommended by one of Lucius' friends from Corinth. After settling in, Lucius wanders the streets and meets Byrrhena, an aunt whom he has not seen in many years. When Byrrhena learns that he is staying with Milo, she warns Lucius that Milo's wife, Pamphile, is a witch who might have designs on him. This warning only serves to arouse Lucius' curiosity and he seduces the serving woman, Fotis, in order to discover the secrets of Pamphile's witchcraft. Fotis agrees to help Lucius and one night she arranges for him to watch Pamphile transform herself into an owl so she can fly to her lover. Lucius is fascinated by this event and tries to duplicate it himself. Fotis tries to help
Foreword
XI
Lucius but unwittingly gives him the wrong jar of magical ointment and, instead of becoming a bird, he is horrified to find that he has turned into a donkey. Fotis tries to reassure Lucius that she knows the antidote, roses, which will return him to human form. She intends to find some roses for him at dawn on the next day but that same night robbers break into the compound, steal Milo's gold and use Lucius, the donkey, to help carry away the gold. With this turn of events, Lucius is unable to get the roses he needs and his trials as a donkey begin. The magnificent centrepiece of the Metamorphoses, the Eros and Psyche myth, appears in the novel soon after Lucius' transformation into a donkey's body. In the robbers' cave he hears an old woman tell the Eros and Psyche tale to comfort a young lady, Charité, whom the robbers have kidnapped and are holding for ransom. Eventually, Charité's fiancé infiltrates the band of robbers and rescues both Charité and Lucius. Since the rose season is now past, Lucius is unable to escape his fate as an ass and passes from owner to owner enduring one humiliation after another. His life is miserable as he is beaten and overworked by the people who keep him. His various masters include a cruel boy, a band of homosexual priests of Cybele, a miller, a farmer, a Roman soldier, a gardener and two cooks. Finally, Lucius is put on display in the public theatre at Corinth where he is to have sex with a woman condemned to die. While the crowd is distracted, Lucius manages to break away and gallop off. He stops running only when he is miles away on a secluded seacoast. Totally exhausted, he falls asleep in the sand at the water's edge. In the night Lucius awakens to a beautiful moon. He is overwhelmed by the power of this magnificent sight which he believes to be an image of the goddess, Isis. In desperation, he begs for her to release him from the misery he has known in his life as an ass and soon falls asleep again. Then, in a dream, Lucius is amazed to see the goddess in the form of a glorious woman who comforts him and promises that she will deliver him from his existence as a donkey. She tells Lucius that on the next day he should join in a procession of her worshippers who will come down to the sea to celebrate the reopening of the navigation season. She foretells that the priest leading the procession will be carrying a garland of roses which Lucius is to pluck from his hand and eat. Isis explains that at the very time she is in Lucius' dream she is simultaneously in the dream of the high priest and is instructing him about his role in Lucius' metamorphosis. Isis also asks Lucius to dedicate his life to her in return for her merciful intervention. All happens exactly as the dream foretells and when Lucius' donkey form fades away, the priest congratulates him on being saved by the great
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The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses
goddess and invites him to join in the worship ceremony. Lucius goes with the worshippers back to the temple where he stays so as to devote himself to the goddess. There he continues to be guided by her in dreams and visions. Eventually Isis calls Lucius to undergo the ritual of initiation into her cult. Later, Lucius travels to Rome and there receives a dream vision informing him that he needs another initiation. This he does at considerable cost. Finally, Lucius is called to a third initiation, this time into the cult of Osiris. The god himself assures Lucius in a dream that he will become a famous lawyer. The Metamorphoses concludes with Lucius proud of being able to serve in the ancient society dedicated to Osiris.
Summary of the Eros and Psyche Myth Psyche is the youngest of three daughters of a king and queen. The king, upset because his most beautiful daughter, Psyche, has found no one to marry, consults the oracle of Apollo who orders her to be placed on a mountaintop as the bride for a terrifying monster. After the bridal procession Psyche is left alone to await her fate. Eventually she falls asleep and wakes in a valley at the foot of the mountain where a friendly wind has carried her. In a nearby forest she finds a royal palace where nobody is present and a voice tells her that all the treasures within are hers. After a banquet where food and wine magically appear she retires to her bedroom. Her unknown bridegroom climbs into bed beside her. She does not see him as there is no light in the room and he departs before sunrise. Psyche remains in this strange paradise until her sisters arrive at the palace. Her husband, still unseen, warns Psyche of the sisters' evil intentions but Psyche longs for normal human contact and insists on seeing them. The sisters are envious of Psyche's good fortune. On their third visit they persuade Psyche that her mysterious husband is really the monster spoken of in Apollo's oracle and suggest she use a lamp to see him and a knife to cut off his head while he sleeps. When Psyche tries to follow their plan she is instead overcome by Eros' beauty and passionately embraces him. Oil from Psyche's lamp fails onto Eros' shoulder and he leaps from the bed. He tells her how he disobeyed Aphrodite's order by taking her (Psyche) for his own lover rather than making her fall in love with a worthless person. Eros leaves Psyche and vows that the sisters will pay for their treachery. Psyche despairs and tries to kill herself. She is rescued while the sisters are killed in their attempts to replace Psyche as Eros' lover. Aphrodite is furious when she learns that her son, Eros, did not follow her orders regarding Psyche whom she views as a hated rival. Aphrodite has Psyche brought to her
Foreword
Xlll
and imposes on her four seemingly impossible tasks. Psyche must (1) sort out a heap of mixed grains before nightfall; (2) bring back wool from dangerous rams; (3) fetch a jarful of water from the deadly Styx river; and (4) descend to the realm of Hades to get some of Persephone's ointment. In each case Psyche is able to complete the task with miraculous help. Eros himself rescues Psyche from the deadly sleep which overcomes her as she attempts to carry out the final task. At last Eros and Psyche are allowed to marry and later Psyche gives birth to a daughter named Voluptas.
Notes 1 W. Doniger and K. Bulkeley, "Why Study Dreams? A Religious Studies Perspective" Dreaming: Journal of the Association for the Study of Dreams 3, 1 (1993): 69. 2 J. Tatum, 'Apuleius and Metamorphosis," AJP 93 (1972): 306. 3 J. Tatum, Apuleius and the Golden Ass, p. 17. 4 J. Winkler, Auctor and Actor: Narr etiological Reading of Apuleius ' Golden Ass, p. 293. 5 B. Perry, 'The Significance of the Title in Apuleius1 Metamorphoses" Classical Philology 18(1923): 229-38. 6 N. Holzberg, "Apuleius und der Verfasser des griechischen Eselromans," WJA 10 (1984): 161-77.
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Chapter 1
The Dreamworld as Hermeneutical Perspective
We are so captivated by and entangled in our subjective consciousness that we have simply forgotten the age-old fact that God speaks chiefly through dreams and visions. — Carl Jung
A
puleius* Metamorphoses is the literary source for one of the most beautiful and influential stories of all time, the myth of Eros and Psyche. This myth has preoccupied depth psychologists to a degree equalled perhaps only by the Oedipus myth. The novel has also served as a primary source of information about mystery religions in the ancient world; the account of religious experience in Book 11 has allowed psychologists and historians of religion a rare glimpse of religious conversion and initiation in the ancient mystery cults. Yet, except for scholars of religion, religious aspects of this classic tend to be neglected. For those who do appreciate these aspects, Elizabeth Haight's characterization of the Metamorphoses as "the Odyssey of Lucius' soul or an ancient Pilgrim's Progress" is still appropriate.1 Beyond traditional subjects of research on the Metamorphoses, however, lies another which has received relatively little attention, namely, the dreamworld that is illustrated in it. The many dreams found in this work illustrate both the vital importance of dreams in the ancient world and the wide variety of meanings attributed to them. The Metamorphoses offers an engaging portrait of the second-century dreamworld, and the centrality of the religious function and spiritual interpretation of dreams in it make it a rewarding study for the psychology of religion. This monograph, then, brings together dreams and religion. The connection between these two realms is an ancient one, since most religious traditions have viewed dreams as a primary vehicle for communication with the divine.
Notes to Chapter 1 are on pp. 11-12.
1
2
The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses
The West, however, has generally focused on rational consciousness and has tended to be suspicious of dreams, at times considering them the work of the Devil Even where Judaism and Christianity recognize the possibility of divine revelation in dreams, they also advise people to evaluate dreams critically in order not to be duped by demons or "false" religions. Precisely because demons were thought responsible for some dreams, St. Paul, for instance, stresses the gift of discernment of spirits. In the early centuries of Christianity , such figures as Justin Martyr, Origen, Tertullian and Athanasius distinguished between dreams sent by God and those sent by the Devil.2 These authors represent the West's ambivalence about, and suspicion of, dreams.3 As we shall see, an ambivalent attitude toward dreams is also evident in Apuleius' novel. The perspective for interpreting the Metamorphoses proposed in this study is relatively unique. It involves highlighting a "genre of dreaming" in Apuleius' work represented by the large number of narratives that recount dreams and comment on their nature (their reliability, absurdities and strange juxtapositions, etc.). My argument is that dreams and dreaming are a contextual genre for making sense out of the novel's many apparent contradictions. Just as in dreams, much of this novel's entertaining narrative functions as a vehicle for expressing underlying truths and meaning. This observation relates directly to the comic-entertainment vs. serious-intention debate which constantly surrounds the Metamorphoses. My approach emphasizes the pervasiveness of the dream and dream atmosphere which help convey the novel's religious significance. Although the Metamorphoses has been studied for almost two millennia, interpretations stressing the role of dreams as a hermeneutical principle for understanding it are almost non-existent. To the degree that scholars have examined these dreams at all, they have tended to stress the content of the dreams and stories about dreams, not their contribution to the whole atmosphere of the novel. While a few commentators have attempted to consider the whole book's dreamlike atmosphere, they have not done so in depth. For example, Henry Ebel emphasizes the dreamlike atmosphere's connection to such themes as the "complete unreliability of appearances, and the resulting ease of transformation of one deceptive solid into another."4 The absurdity of the dream universe, says Ebel, reveals the truth about reality that "we manage to conceal from ourselves in our waking hours."5 The nature of reality, he argues, is such that despite all our attempts to act and be in control, we are ultimately immersed in a condition of being actcd upon. Ebel's view of reality as disclosed in the Metamorphoses is consistent with modern psychological theory, which maintains that our confidence in a rational and predictable universe is easily threatened and undermined.
The Dreamworld as Hermeneutical Perspective
3
Another commentator, C. Mayrhofer attributes the strangeness of the stories of the Metamorphoses to "assertions of causality that arc contrary to all experience, and yet their context is that of everyday experience."6 At the basis of the book's disquieting quality, according to Mayrhofer, is a mixture of hilarity and distress as well as an aspect of the supernatural. His observations are correct but the dream experience contained in the novel is even more of a factor in creating the novel's strange tone, The Metamorphoses ' uncanny, dreamlike atmosphere is also related, in part, to what Jung calls visionary art or literature. Jung distinguishes between works of art in which the artist is completely in control of the material and those in which a creative complex takes over the artist to some degree.7 When an archetype is involved in this creative complex, Jung calls the work of art "visionary." In literature, such works resemble the world of fairy tales and myths, because archetypal images and motifs are prominent in all of these forms. Apuleius' Metamorphoses clearly shares in the archetypal world of mythology, as evidenced by the central place of the Eros and Psyche myth in the novel. In fact, Jung's description of visionary art fits the book's mysterious atmosphere perfectly: Through our senses we experience the known, but our intuitions point to things that are unknown and hidden, that by their very nature are secret. If ever they become conscious, they are intentionally kept secret and concealed, for which reason they have been regarded from earliest times as mysterious, uncanny, and deceptive. They are hidden from man, and he hides himself from them out of religious awe, protecting himself with the shield of science and reason.... Do wc delude ourselves in thinking that we possess and control our own psyches, and is what science calls the "psyche" not just a question mark arbitrarily confined within the skull, but rather a door that opens upon the human world from a world beyond, allowing unknown and mysterious powers to act upon man and carry him on the wings of the night to a more than personal destiny?8
Jung emphasizes the capacity of visionary art to touch upon the hidden, religious world just beyond our everyday reality. The dreamworld which Apuleius describes partakes of that ultimately "religious" quality of visionary literature, and this is a key reason for its enduring appeal and haunting character.9 To grasp the point about the importance of recognizing dreaming as a "narrative genre" and a hermeneutical tool for understanding the Metamorphoses, consider an example from ordinary experience. If someone greets you in the morning by saying "I'm amazed; I fell through the atmosphere for miles and landed softly in a lush flowering meadow," you have no way to understand the meaning or intention of this communication until you have an
4
The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses
idea of its context. But if the person prefaces the statement with "I had the most extraordinary dream last night," you suddenly have a meaningful context for the seemingly bizarre content. Noting that it is a dream immediately affects your reasoning process and allows you to take into account the dream mode of expression. Similarly, signalling the dream as a relevant literary genre for the Metamorphoses allows us to make more sense of the work than if we judge it strictly by the standards of waking consciousness. In contrast to analyses of the Metamorphoses which emphasize either its disconnectedness and lack of serious purpose or its religious intent, a perspective which focuses on the dreamworld of the book can bring these two apparently contradictory views into fruitful relationship with each other. If we view the strange, seemingly disconnected stories in the Metamorphoses in relationship to Apuleius' dreamworld, the work as a whole gains a degree of meaningful coherence. In the early 1900s Freud highlighted the sexual character of dreams and their symbols. While his research may have overemphasized the sexual aspects of dreams, at least it prevents us from ignoring these aspects. The ancients, on the other hand, were primarily interested in the religious dimensions of dreams. Both of these realms, the sexual and the religious, are in fact at the very heart of dreams. By using the "genre of dreaming" as a hermeneutical tool for understanding the Metamorphoses and affirming that the juxtaposition of sacred and sexual is central to dream experience, we can illuminate some of the contradictions which puzzle so many of the novel's readers and interpreters. The dreamworld of the Metamorphoses provides a crucial context for understanding its bizarre character. While this exploration of the religious dreamworld of the Metamorphoses is neither literary criticism nor literary psychology, certain aspects of these enterprises do bear on it. For example, the perspective adopted here is compatible with a methodological assumption fundamental to Jungian literary criticism, namely, that literature expresses the conscious and unconscious mind and feelings of the author. Jos Van Meurs describes this "expressive criticism" as "a psychological criticism that tries to unravel further strands in the "imaginai" life of images, symbols and themes of literary works by using the insights and concepts of depth psychology and the analogies with dreams and myths."10 The present study does indeed seek to unravel a significant thematic strand in the Metamorphoses: the dreamworld surrounding the entire novel. Similarly, "literary psychology" also has a role here. According to Leon Edel, three postulates from psychoanalysis undergird literary psychology: (1) There exists an unconscious which influences human motivation, behaviour, dreams, imaginings and thoughts; (2) certain aspects of the uncon-
The Dreamworld as Hermeneutical Perspective
5
scious sometimes emerge into awareness in dreams and in the created forms of literature (i.e., the same kinds of unconscious materials that are transformed and disguised in dreams are converted by a literary sensibility into stories or other conscious works of art); and (3) by examining a literary work we can detect deeper intentions and meanings in that work. All three of these postulates enter into this study. While the "disguise" aspect of dreamwork transformation is controversial and not readily accepted by many dream interpreters today, the other part of postulate two is important here, namely, that the same kind of unconscious material that goes into the making of dreams is also at work in the creation of a novel. Dreams and imaginative writing spring from similar unconscious ground in the psyche, an insight that has emerged out of the past century of depth psychology. From this point of view, dreams in actual life and literary dreams in a novel are closely related in that both reveal something of the author's unconscious psyche. Edel expresses this viewpoint concisely: How we walk and how we talk, the nervous impulses that drive our pen across a sheet and give an individual form to our handwriting, the words we speak and the phrases and sentences we build out of them, the images we conjure up and the objects our eyes select, these are all autobiographical acts, so that a book we write is the book of ourselves.11
Much of what Edel says applies to the Metamorphoses. Even where Apuleius is obviously drawing upon existing sources, it is still he who chooses which material to include, thus marking the novel as a reflection of its author. As Edel says, [The writer's] choice of word and image and symbol is his and no one else's; and if he is guilty of plagiarism he has still made a choice in cribbing from one writer rather than from another. It is still a self-revealing act. In a world of multiple choices there is always a reason, although it may be obscure, why one choice is made rather than another.12
The essence of EdePs literary psychology is "the study of what literature expresses of the human being who creates it." 13 Even the most minute choices, such as punctuation marks, reveal the mind of the author.14 Apuleius' preoccupation with dreams in the Metamorphoses is thus autobiographical in at least two ways: (1) every bit of the novel reflects its author; and (2) Apuleius himself was immersed in religious mysteries in which dreams played an extremely influential role. Edel's summary of the contribution of psychoanalysis to the understanding of literature is especially relevant to the genre of dreams in the Metamorphoses. He writes:
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The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius'
Metamorphoses
We have made considerable advances in our understanding of man's symbolic and mythic imagination; what we need is to understand the delicate ways in which metamorphosis takes place in our unconscious. We are constantly engaged in this kind of creation, and all literature is a fabled mythology, a land in which the great artists, using tradition, dream their fabled dreams and redream those of others, in a kind of universal protean play of emotion and mind.15
Edel's notion that literature is where great artists dream their fabled dreams and redream those of others speaks directly to Apuleius' composition of the Metamorphoses, in regard to both the literary dreams he created and the material he borrowed.
Dreams: A Pervasive Theme in the
Metamorphoses
To regard the dream as a literary genre of the Metamorphoses is to emphasize that dreams and dreaming are a persistent theme running throughout the entire work. Later we shall consider how the "dimensions of dream reference" 16 figure into dream analysis and how they relate specifically to this novel. Here we should merely note the extraordinary variety of dream dimensions relevant to the Metamorphoses. The following chart outlines dimensions of dream reference found in Apuleius' novel: (1) somatic (reflecting the state of the dreamer's body); (2) subjective (showing the dreamer's inner state); (3) objective (revealing aspects of the external world); (4) archetypal (reflecting universal human themes); (5) spirit world (connecting the dreamer to spirits of the dead); (6) divine (linking the dreamer to God, the gods or ultimate reality); (7) telepathic (revealing what is in the mind of someone geographically distant from the dreamer); (8) past (replaying events from the dreamer's past experience); (9) present (working over the dreamer's current preoccupations); and (10) future or precognitive (showing future events). That the Metamorphoses presents all of these dimensions is cogent evidence of how significant and foundational the dreamworld is to its very structure. Nearly every book of the Metamorphoses (column one) contains some aspect of dreams. The last two columns reveal the great diversity of these dreams in regard to their function in the story and the variety of dream dimensions involved in their interpretation.
The Dreamworld as Hermeneutical Perspective
7
Dimensions of Dream Reference in the Metamorphoses
Book No. Story Content
Dimensions of Dream Reference
Dream Material
Function of Dream
1
Aristomenes' Story
Confusion of dream and reality. Witches kill Socrates with magic.
Raises questions about the interrelationship of dream, magic and reality.
somatic objective
2
Thelyphron's Story
Witches mutilate Thelyphron by magic in his sleep.
Heightens questions about dream, reality, magic and the dead. Foreshadows Lucius' work with magic.
objective
4
Charite's Dream of Tlepolemus' Death
Charité foresees Tlepolemus being killed. Old lady says bad dreams often portend good fortune.
Symbolic dream foreshadows Tlepolemus* death. Theory of dream contraries calls into question dream precognition.
precognitive
4-6
Eros and Psyche Myth as Archetypal Dream
Psyche's marriage, loss, trials and reunion with Eros. Her deification.
Deepens the meaning of the story. Summarizes Lucius' sufferings as an ass and anticipates his conversion and union with Isis.
archetypal past present precognitive
8
Charite's Dream of Tlepolemus' Ghost
The ghost reveals hidden events surrounding his death.
Provides Charité with knowledge about Thrasyllus' character and determines her course of action.
spirit world past present
9
Dream of the Baker's Daughter
Baker's ghost reveals causes of his death.
Shows the influence of the dead through dreams and their access to hidden knowledge.
spirit world telepathic past
11 6
Lucius' First Dream of Isis
Isis comforts Lucius and promises to return him to human form.
Causes Lucius to redirect his life toward Isis.
divine present subjective
11» 19
Lucius' Nightly Dreams of Isis
Lucius contemplates Isis in his dreams at the temple.
Dreams carry on Lucius' continual contemplation of Isis.
divine present subjective
11,20
Lucius' Dream of Candidus' Return
Lucius iearns that a servant of his will arrive.
Symbolically predicts return of his horse. Marks full recovery of things lost in his life as an ass.
precognitive subjective
Lucius sees the priest who will initiate him into the cult of Osiris. The god calls Lucius to a third initiation.
Precipitates Lucius' initiation into Osiris' mysteries. Simultaneous visions show underlying unity of spiritual world.
precognitive telepathic subjective
11, 27, 30 Lucius' Dreams of the Priest of Osiris and of the god
8
The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses
Dreams Shaping the Plot We should also, at this stage, observe the pervasiveness of the dream motif by the way dreams contribute to the plot in so many books of the Metamorphoses. Early in the novel, dreams foreshadow things to come and help create a mysterious, uncanny atmosphere. They call attention to the illusory character of reality and the fuzzy line between dreaming and waking reality. In Book 1, for instance, Aristomenes' story raises questions about the interrelationship of dreams, magic and reality. Magical events begin happening around midnight when Aristomenes is falling asleep. Do two witches actually break into his room to kill Socrates, his roommate for the night, or is this event part of Aristomenes' dream? Later on, we learn that both men are themselves confused about whether or not the witches were really in the room and attacked Socrates. When Aristomenes tries to sort out his experience, he recalls that too much wine and food can influence dreams and even bring on nightmares. We find out afterwards that the witches were actually there. Nevertheless, the uncertainty of Aristomenes and Socrates about whether these events were real or a dream largely creates the eerie feelings aroused by the story. Both the somatic and the objective dimensions of dream reference are involved here. Aristomenes' wondering about the effects of drinking on his sleep and dreams refers to the somatic dimension, whereas the connection of this dreamlike experience to the way things turn out in the story is based on the objective dimension, where dream images refer to realities outside the dreamer. In Book 2, the story of Thelyphron heightens the questions about the relationship between dreams, reality, magic and the dead. Thelyphron takes on the job of guarding a corpse so that witches will not come to take pieces off the corpse's face for their magical concoctions. While Thelyphron falls asleep, witches do indeed come to mutilate him and the corpse. This story shows that magic enters the world at night through the doors of sleep. But, as in Aristomenes' story, what part is dream and what part magic or waking reality? Thelyphron's story also foreshadows Lucius' own experience with magic and its dangers. The objective dimension of dream reference is the one most prominent in this story, in that the connection to external reality is emphasized in Thelyphron's sleep experience. In Books 4 and 8, Charite's dreams reveal the dreamworld's strange connections to the future and the spirit world. Her dream in Book 4 shows the murder of her lover Tlepolemus by one of the robbers who have kidnapped her. While it portrays the death differently than how it happened in reality, the dream nevertheless is genuinely precognitive in anticipating his murder.
The Dreamworld as Hermeneutical Perspective
9
Apuleius arranges the plot so that Charite's dream accurately predicts a murder—a clear sign that he is aware of the tradition which strongly affirms the ability of dreams to foretell the future. When Charité tells her precognitive nightmare to the old lady who is with her, the old lady tries to console her with the familiar dream theory of contradictories. She states that dreams often show the very opposite of what will come to pass, so Charité should not worry about the murder portrayed in her dream. Here, Apuleius plays the theory of contradictories against the powerful belief in dream precognition. From his arrangement of the plot, the precognitive dream tradition appears to win. The Eros and Psyche myth, considered as an archetypal dream, contributes impressively to the novel's dreamlike character. This myth/dream 17 constitutes a major portion of the novel, extending from Book 4 to Book 6. As an archetypal dream, the Eros and Psyche story summarizes Lucius' past experiences and forecasts his future conversion and religious transformation. In recapitulating Lucius' life, it represents the past dimension of dream reference. By reflecting his present situation and future spiritual developments, it involves both the present and precognitive dimensions. The archetypal dimension of this story is evident as Lucius' dream links his experience with the universal themes of loss, wandering and redemption embodied in the Eros and Psyche myth. Charite's second dream occurs in Book 8, following the death of her husband Tlepolemus. Charité is overwhelmed with grief and can hardly carry on the duties of living, yet Thrasyllus continues to pursue her and insist on marriage. While depressed and confused, she dreams of her dead husband. He appears with blood on his face and reveals that Thrasyllus arranged his murder and made it look like a hunting accident. The dream shocks Charité and moves her to avenge her husband's murder. She arranges a meeting with Thrasyllus, drugs him and blinds him by plunging a large hairpin into his eyes. Then she runs to the tomb of her dead husband and commits suicide. This dream has a powerful influence on Charite's life and determines her course of action. It provides her with knowledge about Thrasyllus' character and motivation, thus illustrating the present dimension of dream reference. It also reveals the hidden events surrounding Tlepolemus' death, thereby representing the past dimension. Finally, it indicates that dreams can link the dreamer to the spirit world. In Book 9, the dream of the baker's daughter shows the influence of the dead through dreams and their access to hidden knowledge, much as in Charite's dream of her husband's ghost. Here the baker's daughter dreams of her father's ghost, who communicates the entire situation surrounding his
10
The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses
death by magic and hanging. Both stories highlight the spirit-world dimension of dream reference, portraying how spirits from the dead appear in dreams to reveal knowledge not available through the five senses. This story connects the dream to the telepathic and past dimensions as well, since the ghost reveals something which happened in the past that the dreamer did not know through her ordinary sensory channels. The novel's last book contains the heaviest concentration of dream material and highlights the divine dimension of dream reference, thus foregrounding the ultimately religious character of Apuleius' dreamworld. Lucius' first dream of the goddess Isis is pivotal in the novel, as it motivates him to redirect his entire life. In the dream, Isis promises to help Lucius escape his entrapment in the body of an ass, and she foretells the details of this transformation. Strikingly, the goddess is simultaneously present in Lucius' dream and in the dream of the priest who will aid him in his metamorphosis. Beyond the divine dimension, the present and subjective dimensions are evident too, since the dream addresses Lucius' present dilemma and state of mind. After his conversion and return to human form, Lucius takes up residence within the temple precinct (Met. 11, 19), worshipping Isis continuously as his daytime contemplation extends into sleep. In his dreams the goddess prepares him for initiation into the sacred mysteries. The divine dimension is clearly central in this dream sequence, which represents the ancient belief that humans are linked to God or the gods in dreams. Also illustrated here are the present and subjective dimensions, as these dreams deal with Lucius' current preoccupation with his upcoming initiation and his attitude toward Isis. During his nightly dream contemplation of Isis, Lucius has a puzzling dream about receiving gifts from Thessaly, including his slave, Candidus. The next day the servants he had left behind arrive unexpectedly, along with his old horse, Candidus. Lucius marvels at the dream's precognitive accuracy and its way of symbolizing the return of his servants and horse in a single condensed image. The precognitive dimension stands out, with the dream so cleverly anticipating Lucius' happy reunion with his former servants and his horse. As well, the dream helps portray Lucius' subjective state as he prepares for initiation and the threads of his entire life seem to come together, reuniting him with his old friends from his pre-asinine days. The final dream sequence reaffirms the novel's religious dreamworld. These dreams precipitate Lucius' initiation into the Osiris mysteries (Met. 11, 27-30). Initially Lucius is confused by a dream in which Isis speaks to him about religious rites of initiation. Since he was already a full initiate of her cult, he wondered at the dream's message. He consults a temple priest who tells him that another initiation awaits him, this time into the cult of Osiris,
The Dreamworld as Hermeneutical Perspective
11
the supreme Father of the gods. Lucius is to wait for a dream invitation from the god, which comes in the form of a devotee of Osiris who explains the ceremonies of initiation. Further, the priest displays a limp and an injury to his foot. In the dream Lucius understands he should look for this priest the next day. When he approaches a priest resembling the one in his dream, he is amazed to find that this priest had, on the previous night, a visionary experience at the statue of Osiris. The god informed him that a man from Madaura was being sent to him for initiation. Not only the divine dimension, but the precognitive dimension is highlighted here, as the dream leads Lucius to the very priest who would later initiate him into the mysteries of Osiris. This dream also involves the telepathic dimension, in that the priest signals to Lucius that he can be identified by a foot injury when they meet the next day. Further dreams in this sequence permit Lucius to carry on his relationship with Osiris, who reassures him about his forthcoming initiation and his future success in the legal profession.
Notes 1 E. Haight, Apuleius and His Influence, p. 38. 2 Morton Kelsey's God, Dreams and Revelation: A Christian Interpretation of Dreams examines this ambivalent attitude toward dreams in the Judeo-Christian tradition. 3 In Spiritual Dreaming: A Cross-Cultural and Historical Journey, Kelly Bulkeley summarizes this critical Western attitude: "A thorough distrust of dreams is certainly the safest hermeneutic attitude one can take from a political perspective— rejecting all dreams keeps a person out of trouble with the authorities. The writer of the book of Sirach, the Eastern Orthodox fathers, the monk of Antiochus, and Martin Luther all warn that dreams can lead people to stray from religious orthodoxy. . . . A total distrust of dreams is also the safest hcrmeneutic stance one can take from a purely intellectual perspective. For those who believe that rationality is our greatest faculty, the stubbornly irrational phenomenon of dreaming can only be regarded as a nuisance" (p. 165). 4 H. Ebel, After Dionysus: An Essay on Where We Are Now, p. 30. 5 Ibid., p. 31. 6 C. Mayrhofer, "On Two Stories in Apuleius," Antichthon 9 (1975): 79. 7 C. Jung, The Spirit in Man, Art and Literature, in CWf vol. 15, pp. 87-99. 8 Ibid., pp. 94-95. 9 Another aspect of visionary art described by Jung, its inherent contradictions and paradoxes, might also apply to the Metamorphoses: "Since the expression can never match the richness of the vision and can never exhaust its possibilities, the poet must have at his disposal a huge store of material if he is to communicate even a fraction of what he has glimpsed, and must make use of difficult and contradictory images in order to express the strange paradoxes of his vision" (ibid., p. 97). Visionary art contains these conflicting images because it expresses some-
12
10
11 12 13 14 15 16
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Metamorphoses
thing of the complex of opposites Jung calls the collective unconscious. This may be why he says "a great work of art is like a dream"—it taps into the deep layers of the psyche in the same way dreams do. The strange juxtaposition of bawdy stories and religious conversion in Apuleius' work may thus actually be a reflection of its dreamlike, visionary character. J. Van Meurs, "Jungian Literary Criticism," in C.G. Jung and the Humanities: Towards a Hermeneutics of Culture, edited by K. Barnaby and P. D'Acierno, p. 248. L. Edel, The Modern Psychological Novel, p. 113. Ibid., p. 113. L. Edel, Stuff of Sleep and Dreams: Experiments in Literary Psychology, p. 12. Ibid., pp. 24-25. Ibid., p. 41. The term "dimensions of dream reference" indicates there are certain dimensions of reality referred to in dreams. Any particular dream may refer to one or more of these dimensions of reality. The term "myth/dream" emphasizes that this myth can also be treated a an archetypal dream; this connection will be explored in Chapters 5 and 6.
Chapter 2
Literary Dreams and the Nature
of the Metamorphoses
The history of literary dreams reveals a consistently adamant uncertainty as to precisely where the boundary lies between life—the objective reality—and life—the subjective dream. — Kenneth and Vincent Atchity, "Dreams, Literature and the Arts"
Literary Dreams
W
hat is the relationship between literary dreams and real dreams? What is the relation between the dreams of the Metamorphoses1 and Apuleius' own dreamlife and unconscious? To answer these questions, we must be clear at the outset that the Metamorphoses is not a treatise on dreams, but a complex novel that has given rise to lively, even heated, debates about its nature and intent. The literary dreams contained in the novel may have a strong possible connection to the religious world of Apuleius himself, but we must first recognize their role in the narrative itself. On the one hand, we can be certain that the dreams and dream theories found in the Metamorphoses are integral to the plot and are intended to produce a specific literary effect. On the other hand, we should not overlook the obvious link between literary dreams and real dreams. When authors introduce dreams in a novel, they expect that readers will relate to them on the basis of their own understanding of the way things happen in dreams. A. Kessels makes this point forcefully in regard to the Homeric poems: "Literary dreams must reflect real dreams,"2 and elaborates further: [T]he fact that dreams in literature are called "dreams" suggests that they are conscious imitations of actual dreams, adapted to suit literary requirements. It is therefore likely that the pattern of dreams such as found in the Homeric
Notes to Chapter 2 are on pp. 28-30. 13
14
The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses poems reflects îo a certain extent the pattern of real dreams (whether of all dreams, is another matter).3
The dream pattern of which he speaks refers to the cultural pattern of dreams found in a particular society at a particular time. Modern anthropological research on dreams recognizes the role of cultural dream theory and expectation in forming that pattern. Barbara Tedlock, for example, points out that the manifest dream (the dream as remembered) should be considered to include not just the dream report but also a society's dream theories, ways of sharing dreams and the cultural code for dream interpretation.4 Similarly, Benjamin Kilborne argues that cultural values and individual dream experience are inextricably linked. He looks to systems of dream classification to shed light on a culture's view of the role dreams play in that society; in his view, the very existence of a dream classification system reveals the importance of dreams in a given society.5 All these factors contribute to making up the cultural pattern of dreams, a pattern which likely determines the way dreams are experienced in a society, or at least the way they are remembered and reported. For example, Kessels speculates that the widespread practice of "dream incubation"6 in the Greco-Roman world would have influenced the pattern of dreams thought significant and worth recording. Kessels observes another factor likely influenced the character of literary dreams in the ancient world. These dreams often lack the fantastic or unusual dream elements frequently reported in dreams of our own day. One reason for this, he points out, is that incoherent dreams do not as clearly serve a literary purpose, especially when that purpose is to show how the gods influence the story plot. Many of the principles Kessels cites are applicable to this study of the dreamworld of the Metamorphoses, as will be seen in Chapter 3. Questions about the nature of literary dreams have concerned not only literary scholars but also psychoanalysts. In an early work, Delusions and Dreams in Jensens Gradiva, Freud considers the value of dealing with literary dreams: "The notion of submitting this class of dreams [literary dreams] to an investigation might seem a waste of energy and a strange thing to undertake; but from one point of view it could be considered justifiable."7 What he finds valuable about such dreams is that novelists often introduce them in order to show the psychological state of a character: "[W]hen an author makes the characters constructed by his imagination dream, he follows the everyday experience that people's thoughts and feelings are continued in sleep and he aims at nothing else than to depict his heroes' states of mind by their dreams." 8 In analyzing Jensen's Gradiva, Freud examines the psychological plausibility of both the action and the dreams in the novel. The author, he says,
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15
presents a "correct psychiatric study, on which we may measure our understanding of the workings of the mind." 9 He especially appreciates Jensen's linking of the dreams of Gradiva to the delusion at the heart of the story in a way which rings true to Freud's own analytical experience. Freud also applies some basic psychoanalytic principles of dream interpretation to Jensen's work to illustrate how literary dreams can often be made more intelligible than they might otherwise be. While we might expect more conscious involvement in the shaping of literary dreams compared to real dreams, Freud points to the key role of consciousness in creating real dream reports too. He speaks of "secondary elaboration" to emphasize the degree to which the dream as remembered is greatly influenced by the work of the conscious mind in filling in gaps and turning discontinuous dream elements into a coherent dream report. In this way the conscious shaping of real dreams is not totally dissimilar to the artistic shaping of literary dreams. Following Freud's inspiration, George Devereux, a psychoanalyst and anthropologist, set out to demonstrate that the literary dreams in ancient Greek tragedy are genuinely dreamlike. From a psychoanalytic point of view, he shows how the essential components of real dreams can be found in the ancient literary dreams. He applies in a creative, though not always convincing, manner such central Freudian ideas as the dream wish, the dream censor, symbolization, overdetermination of dream symbols and secondary elaboration. Devereux contrasts what he regards as the genuinely dreamlike character of literary dreams in Greek tragedy with the non-dreamlike nature of literary dreams in the Homeric poems.10 He extends this latter evaluation to other dreams passed down from the ancient world, namely, those of Aristides and Artemidorus, whose views on dreams we shall soon consider. In regard to both of these authors, Devereux sees a rather heavy-handed secondary elaboration in their transforming what he assumes are their actual dreams into the dreams recorded in their works. In the case of Aristides, he believes the secondary elaboration was guided by Aristides' neurotic waking needs and wishes. In Artemidorus' case, the conscious elaboration of his clients' dreams was directed by Artemidorus' need to mould them to his own expectations about dream interpretation.11 Kelly Bulkeley has recently attempted to develop criteria to determine how "real" any particular literary or historical dream might be. Like Freud, he recognizes that some literary dreams follow very closely the psychological dynamics of real dreams. In evaluating the dreams of Abram and Jacob in the Hebrew scriptures, Bulkeley finds that they correspond to real dreams because both involve basic existential questions of how humans relate to the
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The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses
divine, and are framed by situations that make these existential questions real living concerns. These factors contribute to our sense that these are either real dreams or at least are grounded in the way real dreams work: "But if these dreams are nothing more than literary creations, then their authors did a flawless job of grounding the fictional dreams in the real spiritual potentials of dreaming. Perhaps that is why these spiritual dreams have achieved the status of 'classics.' " 1 2 This statement might well apply to the dreams of the Metamorphoses, especially Lucius' dreams in Book 11. Bulkeley also looks to certain elements in the literary setting which correspond to the physical context of real dreams: One key characteristic is, of course, a night setting: to the extent that humans usually sleep, and dream, at night, extraordinary visionary experiences that occur at night stand a good chance of being dreams. Another distinctive characteristic is the person's physical positions: if the person is lying down, in bed, or in some dark, enclosed place like a cave, and has an extraordinary visionary experience, there's a strong chance that it is a dream. Similarly, there are temporal characteristics that indicate an experience is likely a dream: e.g., if we are told that, right after the experience, morning came or the person woke up.
As we shall see later, some of these factors are at work in the religious dreams of Lucius and suggest that Apuleius has deliberately modelled his literary dreams after real dreams. Even after examining psychological and contextual aspects of literary dreams, Bulkeley concludes that in many cases of dreams found in literary and historical texts, we cannot be absolutely certain how close they are to "real" dreams: There is no simple, clear-cut distinction between "real" and "fictional" dreams. It is more accurate and more helpful to posit a continuum between an individual's private, intrapsychic experiences during sleep ("real" dreams) and publicly reported, culturally elaborated accounts of such experiences ("fictional" dreams).14
This notion of such a spectrum, running from real dreams to fictional dreams, offers a helpful way to approach the limitations of studying literary dreams. Bulkeley reminds us that there are always limits to getting at "real" dreams when studying dream reports from everyday life or even our own dream reports. What exactly is a "real" dream anyway? Is it ever possible, even in the best of circumstances, to get access to "real" dreams? Modern dream research is leading us toward the frustrating conclusion that it may not be possible. Written dream reports certainly do not give us access to the "real" dream, even when
Literary Dreams and the Nature of the Metamorphoses
17
the reports are written by the dreamer immediately upon awakening, because such reports are inevitably distorted by the structures of language and grammar and by people's variable abilities to communicate their experiences. Even the dreamer's own private memory of the dream does not give a reliable access to the "real" dream, because such memories are always distorted by time, by psychological resistances, and by the cognitive structures that govern memory.15
Following Bulkeley, once we recognize the inherent limitations of studying both literary and real dreams we will be less likely to conclude we have grasped the "original dream" in any final sense. Such a respectful attitude toward the mystery of dreams is an appropriate starting point for our study.
Apuleius' Life in Relation to the Metamorphoses How is the dreamworld of the Metamorphoses connected to Apuleius' life? Many scholars argue that the novel is at least partially autobiographical. While there are numerous gaps in our knowledge about his life, what we do know about Apuleius comes primarily from his own works and reveals him to be a man of remarkably diverse talents: "Through his extant writings he is revealed as romantic novelist, brilliant lawyer, popular lecturer and Platonic philosopher, and through his many styles he presents an unparalleled picture of life in the second century of our era" 1 6 Apuleius was born in Madaura, a Roman colony in Africa. His father was a leading citizen in the town and a chief official in the colony. Apuleius studied at Carthage, Athens and Rome. According to his own account, he explored such subjects as literature, rhetoric, dialectic, poetry, geometry, music and philosophy. Exactly when he wrote the Metamorphoses, his best-known work, is widely debated, but it was possibly towards the end of his literary career after he settled down in Carthage.17 The date and place of Apuleius' death are not known. One of the most important primary sources for the life of Apuleius is his Apologia, where he defends himself at a trial in Sabrata, presumably when Claudius Maximus was proconsul (ca. 158-59 CE). Apuleius defends himself against charges of being immoral, of having won his elderly wife, Pudentilla, by sorcery, and of marrying her in order to obtain her money. He successfully fends off these attacks and in the course of his defence declares that he learned many religious mysteries, rites and ceremonies out of religious fervour and a desire to seek truth.18 Among the mysteries Apuleius refers to are secret rites associated with the cult of Isis. Apuleius scholar John Griffiths concludes that these Isiac rites are the basis for the authenticity of the religious experience described in Book 11:
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Apuleius may be regarded as conveying in Book XI his own experience as an lsiac initiate. This means that his testimony is of inestimable value as evidence for the cult of Isis at a Greek centre. .. . [Apuleius] is concerned for the most part with a particular rite in a particular place. Within this limitation his work has an immediacy and an elaboration of detail that are quite rare in our sources for ancient religion.19
True to form for an lsiac initiate, Apuleius states in chapter 56 of the Apologia that he would not reveal to the uninitiated the secrets of the religious mysteries he received and swore to conceal in a vow of secrecy. Interestingly, Apuleius has Lucius make the same statement in Book 11 of the Metamorphoses. R. Van der Paardt states concisely the view of those who find the Metamorphoses to be at least partially autobiographical, contending that "anyone who knows that the author of the novel is from Madauros cannot but conclude that a confusion or blending of author and narrator has taken place." 20 The key passage from Book 11, where Lucius is referred to as "a man from Madaura," is bound to surprise the reader who was previously led to believe that Lucius was a Greek from Corinth.21 Van der Paardt offers three options: (1) Apuleius simply made an error; (2) the available manuscripts are corrupt; or (3) there is a blending of author and Lucius, in which Lucius becomes the author's alter ego.22 Related arguments come from Antonie Wlosok and K. Alpers. Wlosok believes that Apuleius created his novel in the service of religious propaganda,23 and Alpers characterizes it as both an allegorical miracle story ("allegorische Wundererzählung" ) and an allegorical autobiography. Alpers views Lucius' transformation into an ass as a portrayal of Apuleius' own previous immersion in magic and eroticism.24 Similarly, although contending that few critics would follow St. Augustine in assuming the author and narrator of the novel are identical, Warren Smith, Jr., does see aspects of Apuleius' religiosity showing through the Metamorphoses: "To demonstrate the depth of his emotional commitment to these powerful deities (Isis and Osiris), the author takes the unusual step of intruding personally into his narrative, in order to testify that the glory of acceptance by Isis and Osiris is what matters most to him."25 Smith believes that when Apuleius reveals his own religious commitment in Book 11, he discards the ironic stance he had previously adopted. At the extreme end of those who see in the Metamorphoses Apuleius' own experience, other than St. Augustine, stands Elizabeth Haight, who claims that "from behind the long-eared, long-nosed mask of the ass peers not only the hero Lucius, but Apuleius himself." 26 She sees Book 11 as Apuleius' spiritual confession, very much in the spirit of those powerful
Literary Dreams and the Nature of the
Metamorphoses
19
accounts found in William James' Varieties of Religious Experience, a book to which we shall refer extensively later. The Metamorphoses is, for her, a serious book which is "an illustration of a sincere autobiographical account of conversion, and probably represents Apuleius' own religious history."27 Not all critics agree on this issue. Pierre Grimai argues for a very limited relationship between Apuleius and his hero Lucius. Grimai maintains that while the Metamorphoses is a result of Apuleius' personal creation rather than a product of a pre-existing tradition, the reader should not assume that everything Apuleius says about Lucius applies to himself.28 Others who distance Apuleius from the narrator Lucius include C. Wright,29 G. Ginsburg30 and D. Robertson. Robertson emphasizes that the only valid reason for identifying Apuleius and Lucius is the word "Madaurensem" (Met. 11, 27) which signifies that Lucius, like Apuleius, is from Madauros. He additionally argues that occurrences of this word are textual corruptions that may have resulted from a copying error.31 More recently, John Winkler disputes the view that Apuleius is simply dropping his disguise in Book 11: [T]he hypothesis that Lucius is a simple handpuppet and that his ego is really Apuleius's is difficult to maintain. . . . One must admit that the itch to find more Apuleius in Lucius is a very real and important response to qualities of the text, but with only the single word Madaurensem as our key to uncode the life of Lucius as the life of Apuleius the project cannot progress beyond the vaguest categories—spiritual Odyssey, unredeemed humanity, quasi-bestial life, servile lust—the predictable rhetoric of moralists everywhere.32
For our purposes we do not need to identify Apuleius with his chief character Lucius, but only go as far as Winkler in recognizing that Apuleius does provide an accurate account of the two central concerns of this work, namely, the dreamworld and religion of his age. Apuleius himself may stop short of advocating all that is involved in these perspectives on dreams and religion, but he presents and preserves them in a powerful, authentic way.
The Nature of Apuleius' Metamorphoses Apuleius' novel combines in a remarkable way descriptions of serious religious experience with the sexual explicitness of bawdy tales. Precisely this sharp contrast between the sacred and the frivolous has inspired countless interpretations of the novel's meaning and its author's intention. These interpretations fall into three general categories: (1) those stressing the novel's serious meaning; (2) those highlighting its comic aspects; and (3) those emphasizing its unity despite the sharp contrast between the wild tales of Books 1-10 and the moving description of religious conversion in Book ll. 3 3
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What follows below will give the reader at least a sense of the diversity of interpretations and the main issues involved. More than twenty-five years ago, Alex Scobie classified early interpretations of the Metamorphoses into two opposing camps—comic versus serious—attributing these tendencies primarily to the work's size and complexity. In a work of the length and scope of the Golden Av.v it is possible for the exponents of both views to extract limited evidence from the mass of material to support their own tine of argument. . . . Inevitably, these two viewpoints, the comic and the serious, have tended to be mutually exclusive. Both sides acknowledge the existence of material which for the sake of maintaining the consistency of their own views, they have been compelled to underestimate or neglect completely.34
Scobie's analysis tries to overcome the comic-serious dichotomy, because it emphasizes the inherent unity of Apuleius' work in spite of its complexity. Similarly, R. Van der Paardt seeks to preserve its complexity—and its "multiinterpretability."35 If we take this advice seriously, we shall be less inclined to look for a single or simple answer to questions about the genre and meaning of this difficult work. Now we must turn to a brief sample of the wide range of interpretations of the Metamorphoses that have been offered over the centuries.
No Serious Intent Ben Perry is likely the commentator who has argued most forcefully for a completely comic interpretation of the Metamorphoses and against any serious religious or philosophical purpose in it. In the 1920s Perry devoted much effort to showing the relationship of the Metamorphoses to another ancient work, the Onos (also called Lucius Or The Ass), which has a number of elements in common with Apuleius' novel. Perry is persuaded that both works are derived independently from a lost Greek original,16 and stresses how radically different the Metamorphoses is from the Onos. In particular, the crucial story of Eros and Psyche is Apuleius' insert,37 as well as the pivotal religious experience in Book 11 : Here, in place of the farcical ending given in the Onos, which is thoroughly consistent with the spirit and tone of the preceding narrative, Apuleius substitutes a long and solemn description of religious mysteries. The mere fact that this ending differs radically from that in the Onos is sufficient proof of its Apuleian origin, though there are many other indications to the same effect.38 One should not imagine that Perry believes the seriousness and power of the religious experience in Book 11 forge a significant unity in the Metamor-
Literary Dreams and the Nature of the Metamorphoses
21
phoses. On the contrary, Perry finds no such value in the material Apuleius brought to his novel: "In view of this general lack of unity and consistency, as well as for other reasons, those critics who attempt to find in the Metamorphoses as a whole any sustained artistic or philosophic purpose other than that of variety and entertainment, are not very convincing."39 Perry dismisses the religious conversion in Book 11 as one of Apuleius' momentary enthusiasms. For Perry, the extraordinary diversity of material and inconsistencies in the narrative show that Apuleius was not careful and had no demonstrable purpose in composing this novel.40 Albin Lesky's judgment on the diverse elements of the Metamorphoses is more moderate although he agrees with Perry's rejection of any serious moral or religious purpose therein.41 For Lesky, Apuleius' diversity is merely his way of entertaining the reader. C. Rubino also argues against the work's unity but from the viewpoint of Northrop Frye's theory of genres.42 He sees the Metamorphoses as a combination of diverse genres, namely, romance, confession and satire—a mixture that does not add up to any kind of real unity. For her part, critic Frances Norwood rejects any notion of serious religious intent in the novel. She dismisses the religious experience of Book 11 as rhetorical showmanship but, unlike the other critics, she does trace a unifying theme in the novel,43 seeing Lucius' interest in experiences of magic and the ass' preoccupation with finding roses as evidence of a significant search motif. Finally, Pierre Grimai grants a certain sincerity to Apuleius' account of initiation in Book 11, and he is less critical of the novel's literary diversity than some of the critics. In fact, he sees this quality as a reflection of the work's originality, which reads as an authentic blend of literary and spiritual experience 44 Overall, these interpretations recognize the novel's diversity, but fail to appreciate its larger purpose.
Unity and Serious Intent Several generations ago Paul Junghanns argued for the novel's unitary character on the basis of repeated themes such as stories about robbers, murder and adultery. During this same period of scholarship Elizabeth Haight stands out as one of the chief exponents of the novel's unity. As mentioned before, she bases her arguments primarily on her evaluation of Lucius' search for the spiritual meaning of life as "a sort of Pilgrim's Progress."45 Haight also calls attention to the relationship between Apuleius' Platonic conception of the Eros and Psyche myth, where Psyche is saved by the god Eros, and Lucius' story, where he in turn is saved by the goddess Isis. Haight believes that this connection between Lucius and Psyche helps unify the novel.
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Apuleius' Platonism Other commentators have emphasized the role of Platonic thought in providing unity to the Metamorphoses. Carl Schlam, for example, finds an abundance of Platonic concepts and motifs there,46 and focuses on the familiar Platonic theme of the human being's separation from the divine and the continuous struggle involved in bridging this chasm. For Schlam, the novel shows the difference between magic (as an attempt to manipulate the divine for human ends) and the mysteries (as a reverent union with the divine) in overcoming this gap 47 Raoul Mortlcy sees Apuleius' refusal to develop his theological viewpoint as a result of his Platonic commitment to the ineffability of God.48 R Walsh also underscores Apuleius' Platonism: [Apuleius] was regarded by his contemporaries, and more important by himself, as first and foremost a Platonist. It is beside the point that he is nowadays regarded as an indifferent practitioner; everything he writes bears the stamp of his Neoplatonist outlook, and The Golden Ass is pre-eminently a fable which synthesises Platonist philosophy with lsiac religion.49
Walsh points out that this type of Platonism is closer to the views of Plutarch than to those of Plato himself.50 Reminiscent of Scobie and Van der Paardt, Walsh acknowledges the presence of contrasting modes of comedy and serious intent in the Metamorphoses as a reflection of Apuleius' multi-faceted personality. [T]here is in fact a central ambivalence in the romance, a tension between Milesian ribaldry and Platonist mysticism, which reflects the complexity of the author's personality. .. . This extraordinary romance becomes finally not only entertainment and fable simultaneously, but also religious apologia."51
Walsh also speculates that Apuleius composed the novel at two different periods: a youthful Apuleius would have been responsible for bringing together the bawdy tales, while an older Apuleius would have added the Eros and Psyche tale and the religious conversion.52 Writing in a similar vein, Antonie Wlosok sees the Isis religion, so prominent in Book 11, as the fulfillment of Apuleius' Platonism. Wlosok convincingly argues for the novel's unity. She cites the following reasons: (1) the parallels between Lucius' experiences and the story of Eros and Psyche, the novel's centrepiece; (2) the competing roles of Fortuna and Isis; (3) the relationship between the ass form into which Lucius is transformed and the symbol of the ass in the Isis cult; and (4) the leitmotif of curiosity in the novel. Joseph DeFilippo has specifically attempted to link this curiosity motif to Apuleius' Platonism. He examines the relationship between curiosity
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23
and Platonic images and metaphors for the soul, and argues that Apuleius' Platonism strongly influences how he presents curiosity as ingrained in Lucius' character. While DeFilippo recognizes that the Metamorphoses cannot be read as a moralistic treatise on Platonism, he does believe that the novel's many Platonic associations justify a serious interpretation of it as a whole. According to DeFilippo, "the Middle Platonist synthesis of Platonic philosophy and lsiac religion offered Apuleius a handy matrix of meaningladen symbols and themes," 53 and within this matrix Apuleius assembled a story which includes serious moral intent.
The Curiosity Motif Curiosity is indeed a significant theme in the Metamorphoses. Apuleius is in fact responsible for the growing popularity of the word curiositas: it appears in extant literature only once prior to him in a letter of Cicero, but it occurs twelve times in the Metamorphoses.54 Walsh tries to show the curiosity theme is a key to understanding the novel. One of the first scholars to focus on this motif was H. Mette,55 who outlines how it links the Eros and Psyche myth to the story of Lucius. He shows how Psyche's curiosity leads her to disaster in the same way that Lucius' curiosity propels him into his series of catastrophes. According to Mette, the curiosity motif helps bring out the aspects of religious allegory throughout the novel. Analogously, A. Labhardt traces the history of the Latin word curiositas and shows how Apuleius gave a new dimension to the concept of curiosity by viewing it from a religious perspective.56 Labhardt also notes, in agreement with Mette, that both Tertullian and Augustine follow Apuleius' use of the term curiositas in their own attacks on the curiosity associated with heresy and magic. In a related study, S. Lancel argues that Apuleius himself only condemned the curiosity associated with magic, not the curiosity about marvel s (mirabilia). To complete our survey, we should also note that H. Ruediger offers a valuable survey of the work of French scholars on the curiosity theme.57 For Gerald Sandy, this theme along with the development of Lucius' character tie up many of the Metamorphoses' seemingly loose ends and help fashion it into a coherent whole.58 More recently Nancy Shumate has considered the role of curiosity in relation to Lucius' moral character and values. For Shumate, who contends that "no one would deny that curiosity is one of the primary engines of action in the Metamorphoses " 5 9 curiosity contributes to the broader question of Lucius' values. She sees the religious theme of turning from false values as the key to the novel's unity.
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The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses
Other Approaches to the Unity of the Metamorphoses William Stephenson provides an unusual twist to arguments for the novel's unity. He unifies the work's dual comic and serious character by seeing even the religious part as a kind of comic device: "It is hardly too strong to say that the whole idea of intervening gods and a waiting afterworld is Apuleius' chief comic device, for it is the highest "diversion" he knows from the evil surrounding man on earth." 60 Thus, Apuleius' belief in a divine refuge and an escape after death provides a perspective from which he can ultimately view the evil and misery in the world as comedy. Another critic, William Nethercut, argues for the work's unity on the basis of his analysis of the novel's journey motif.61 He sees Lucius' journey as continuous, and, although it has clearly demarcated stages, he believes it is a unifying aspect of the work. Further, allusions throughout the Metamorphoses to the relationship between Cupid and Venus serve to unify it. He also believes that references to hair in different passages constitute a significant unifying theme. Gail Cooper attributes the competing modes of comedy and seriousness to the peculiar way Apuleius characterizes the epic search of the hero. For her, the Metamorphoses portrays this search as a "process of bumbling, rather than swashbuckling, one's way through the real world."62 She finds Joseph Campbell's study of the myth of the hero a useful way to grasp certain aspects of Lucius' adventures. For his part, Tomas Haggs emphasizes the novel's unity by minimizing the uncxpcctedness of Apuleius' shift from the wild stories in Books I-10 to the serious religious intent of the final book.63 He points to premonitions hidden in the first ten books which prepare us for the striking conversion experience of Book 11. He views the beautiful masterpiece of the first ten books, the myth of Eros and Psyche, as signalling that a serious message underlies the comic tales.64 The story of Lucius being transformed into an ass, Haggs says, would have prefigured to worshippers of Isis a possible future conversion to her, since the ass is associated with Seth-Typhon, the power of evil in the Isis and Osiris myth. Haggs considers Apuleius to convey a message of salvation from human bondage within an amusing package.65 Brendon Kenny also underscores the connectedness of the whole novel by viewing Lucius' adventures as an ass as the primary alternative to a life unified and made meaningful in religious conversion: "The preceding books represent the world which he has escaped from a world which has little discernible order or meaning in it, but in which all are forced to live unless delivered from it by conversion to the religion of Isis."66 In this view, the sharp contrast between Books 1-10 and Book 11 effectively highlights the overarching message of the Metamorphoses, namely, the difference religious meaning makes in one's experience of life.
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25
P. Scazzoso and Rheinhold Merkelbach both strive to demonstrate that the Metamorphoses is a unified and serious religious work, but in different ways. Scazzoso traces through the novel elements which indicate it is ultimately a story of religious initiation,67 while Merkelbach argues that the Metamorphoses is one of many Greek romances which are actually disguised Mysterientexte,68 He points out the many parallels between elements in the novel and aspects of liturgy and ritual found in other texts, inscriptions and art of the ancient world. In particular, he focuses on the Eros and Psyche myth as a course of initiation (in transposed form) which enacts a cult myth. Nancy Shumate has argued convincingly that the novel offers a typical account of the process of conversion, and that the broad religious theme of the pursuit of false values provides an answer to the question of the work's unity. This theme provides the key to the inveterate question of the novel's unity as well: the false values of the old life are finally set right in Book 11, replaced by divine truth; Lucius' experiences before conversion are like the negative of a photograph, which is only fully developed, so to speak, in the final book. The unity of the work lies in the inverse relationship between the ρ re-con version and post-conversion books. 69
Her analysis of the unifying religious theme differs from those of other interpreters who have focused principally on specific lsiac elements in the novel and particularly on the religious aspects of Book 1 1. For Shumate, the pursuit of false values and the discovery of true value in the divine makes the entire work a fundamentally religious novel
The Eros and Psyche Myth as Unifying the Novel At the heart of the Metamorphoses stands one of the most beautiful of all myths, the story of Eros and Psyche. It comprises about one quarter of the entire Metamorphoses, where it makes its first appearance in literature. There is much debate, however, about how Apuleius' version of the tale relates to (1) pre-existing figures of Eros and Psyche depicted by various artists, (2) variants of a current folk tale or (3) other versions of the myth which may have been set forth in now-lost literature.70 Those who have argued for the unity and seriousness of the Metamorphoses have often done so on the basis of the parallels between the Eros and Psyche myth and the story of Lucius. We have already seen that the curiosity motif is an important link between Psyche and Lucius, and something more should be said here. Frances Norwood sees curiosity as the factor which brings both Psyche and
26
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Lucius to grief, and the Psyche tale as a portrait of "Lucius in Fairyland."71 John Griffiths contends that Psyche's trials foreshadow Lucius' own struggles and her tasks symbolically describe aspects of his initiation into the cult of Isis.72 For Ronald Brown the curiosity of both Psyche and Lucius are essentially the same in that both seek transcendence of human limitations.73 He argues that the warning against "sacrilegious curiosity" applies as much to Lucius as to Psyche, since both tried to enter the realm of the holy through their own initiative. For Brown, this parallel points to the novel's fundamentally religious significance. The religious implications of the parallel between Psyche and Lucius are drawn out by other commentators. Richard Hooper, for instance, asserts "the tale of Cupid and Psyche is not an allegory about love or a stylish myth inserted for relief from the bandits' cave: it is a miniature version of the whole novel, and a careful foreshadowing of its religious significance."74 According to Hooper, Psyche's first three tasks are actually initiations which anticipate those that Lucius must undergo in preparation for his membership in the lsiac cult. Psyche's journey to the underworld, then, is foreshadowing Lucius' descent into hell that is part of this initiation. Some aspects of the Psyche myth, in Hooper's view, would not make sense without reference to the frame narrative about Lucius. For Carl Schlam, the link between Psyche and Lucius highlights the religious meaning of the Eros and Psyche myth. While agreeing with Merkelbach that some symbolic aspects of the initiation rites of the Isis cult can be found in this myth, Schlam has reservations about Merkelbach's attempt to trace these connections. Like other commentators, Schlam regards the curiosity theme as a significant link between Psyche and Lucius. But, beyond this, he views Psyche's wanderings in search of Eros as akin to Lucius' wanderings as an ass, and Psyche's redemption by divine powers as parallel to Lucius' redemption through Isis. Can we discern a trend in this voluminous literature? We might take Sehl am's view as an accurate assessment of the current trend of scholarship: "The long-standing divergence between those who emphasize the unity and seriousness of the Metamorphoses and those who regard it as miscellaneous and simply amusing has continued to the present time, although the number of scholars exploring the former view has become preponderant."75
¥antage Point of This Study This present study is a further exploration of the seriousness of the novel, but recognizes that this position has its own limitations. In one of the most intriguing recent studies of the Metamorphoses, John Winkler lays bare these
Literary Dreams and the Nature of the
Metamorphoses
27
limitations. He highlights the novel's narcological complexity and undercuts both those interpretations which see the novel as frivolous and incoherent and those which see in it a clear purpose and serious intent. His views provide a theoretical context for my own perspective. Winkler points out how previous interpretations arrive at the novel's "true" meaning by comparing it with a "master text, a document or writing that is given privileged status in the decoding of the AA [Metamorphoses]"10 In each case, says Winkler, a key is needed to make sense out of the work's ambiguities. For example, the serious religious reading gives privileged status to Book 11 as the key to reinterpreting Books 1-10, which on first reading appear to be merely comic entertainment, but in light of it now can be seen to prefigure the religious conversion of Book 11. Winkler argues that each interpretive approach assumes that the Metamorphoses is incomplete and problematic as it stands. He selects as his own "master text" or key those parts of it which "are models (whether serious or ironic) for the process of reading, of interpreting a scene or tale: 777 Winkler admits that his own choice is inevitably arbitrary but trusts that those who follow his "experiment" will see its merits. His creative research results in the view that the Metamorphoses is a philosophical comedy about religious knowledge: The effect of its hermeneutic playfulness, including the final book, is to raise the question whether there is a higher order that can integrate conflicting individual judgments. I further argue that the effect of the novel and the intent of Apuleius is to put that question but not to suggest an answer.... The implicit argument of the novel is that belief in Isis or in any integrating cosmic hypothesis is a radically individual act that cannot be shared. We can watch Lucius make a leap of faith but we cannot find the ground to stand on (in the novel) that would enable us to leap with him.78
Thus Winkler concludes that Apuleius describes fundamental alternatives about the meaning of life and faith in Isis but does not himself recommend that leap. This conclusion about Apuleius' "limited scepticism"79 separates Winkler's interpretation from those which see Apuleius as advocating a particular religious or philosophical viewpoint. Winkler is correct to insist that the integration of the Metamorphoses requires the reader's decision to supply the missing key that authorizes attention to some features of the text and dismisses others. This, in essence, is the inherent limitation in any interpretation of the work, including the present one. The reader's own experience and judgment are crucial to the meaning of the story. This approach to understanding the Metamorphoses certainly holds true for the main concern of the present study, namely, appreciating the
28
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Metamorphoses
importance of the dreamworld in the Metamorphoses. Readers actively involved in working with their own dreams, in whatever context, are more likely to comprehend the power and role of the dreamworld in Apuleius' novel. For us, then, the magical world of the unconscious psyche provides the key to integrating the diverse, complex material of the Metamorphoses.
Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6
7 8
For a brief summary of the story, see the Foreword. A. Kessels, Studies on the Dream in Greek Literature, p. 158. Ibid.. p. 2. B. Tedlock, "Dreaming and Dream Research," in Dreaming: Anthropological and Psychological Interpretations, pp. 1-30. B. Tedlock, 'On Classifying Dreams," in ibid., p. 173. Dream incubation in the ancient world was the practice of going to a dream temple to sleep so that the gods would come in dreams to cure an illness or to help with some problem. S. Freud, Delusions and Dreams in Jensen 's Gradiva, in SE, vol. 9, p. 7. Ibid., p. 8.
9 Ibid., p. 43. 10 Devereux means by the "dreamlike character" of literary dreams that there is evidence of the unconscious dynamics Freud described in dreams—factors such as unconscious wishes, censorship, symbolization, condensation of images and displacement of emotional tone. 11 G. Devereux, Dreams in Greek Tragedy: An Ethno-Psychoanalytical Study, pp. xxv-xxvi. 12 K. Bulkeley, Spiritual Dreaming: Λ Cross-Cultural and Historical Journey, p. 41. 13 Ibid., pp. 205-206. 14 Ibid., p. 204. 14 Ibid., pp. 203-204. 16 E. Haight. Apuleius and His Influence, p. 24. 17 The Isis Book, Metamorphoses I I , translated by J. Griffiths, p. 10. 18 Apuleius, Apologia, chapter 55. 19 The Isis Bookf p. 6. 20 R. Van der Paardt, 'The Unmasked T : Apuleius' Metamorphoses XL27," Mnemosyne 34 (1981): 97. 21 This crucial passage is introduced by a precognitive dream sequence involving Lucius and a priest of Osiris. This might suggest the dreamworld offers clues to deeper levels of personal identity. 22 Van der Paardt, "The Unmasked T : Apuleius1 Metamorphoses XI,27," p. 97. 23 A. Wlosok, "Zur Einheit der Metamorphosen des Apuleius," Philologus 113 (1969): 68-84. 24 K. Alpers, "Innere Beziehungen und Kontraste als 'Hermeneutische Zeichen' in den Metamorphosen des Apuleius von Madaura," WJA 6 (1980): 206. 25 W. Smith, "The Narrative Voice in Apuleius' Metamorphoses," ΤΑΡΑ 103 (1972): 534.
Literary Dreams and the Nature of the Metamorphoses 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33
34 35 36
37 38 39 40
41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48
29
Haight, Apuleius and His Influence, p. 49. Ibid., p. 49. P. Grimai, "L'originalité des Métamorphoses d'Apulée," IL 9 (1957): 156. C. Wright, "No Art at All: A Note on the Proemi um of Apuleius' Metamorphoses;' Classical Philology 68 (1973): 217-19. G. Ginsburg, "Rhetoric and Representation in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius," Arethusa 10 (1977): 49-61. D. Robertson, "Lucius of Madaura: A Difficulty in Apuleius," Classical Quarterly 4 (1910): 221-27. J. Winkler, Auctor and Actor: A Narratological Reading of Apuleius ' Golden Ass, p. 128. For a more complete and detailed analysis of this literature see C. Schlam's "Scholarship on Apuleius since 1938," Classical World 64 (1971): 285-309. For a recent characterization of interpretations see Winkler, Auctor and Actor, pp. 4-8. A. Scobie, Aspects of the Ancient Romance and Its Heritage: Essays on Apuleius, Petronius and the Greek Romances, pp. 30-31. R. Van der Paardt, Apuleius Madaurensis: The Metamorphoses III, p. 7. B. Perry, "Some Aspects of the Literary Art of Apuleius in the Metamorphoses " TAPA 54 (1923): 196. P. Walsh has set forth concisely the current view on this matter: "[A]n unknown Greek writer composed an abridged version of a Greek short story. He called this epitome Lucius or the Λ55; it appears among the works of Lucian, and has achieved fame chiefly because its central theme is identical with that of The Golden Ass of Apuleius. The two works are thought to descend independently of each other from a lost romance, a Greek Metamorphoses; but whereas Lucius or the Ass is an abridgement somewhat shorter than the original, Apuleius has greatly expanded the tale with the insertion of several new episodes and anecdotes, of which the most important are the tale of Cupid and Psyche on the one hand and a wholly remodelled climax on the other" ("The Rights and Wrongs of Curiosity [Plutarch to Augustine]," G&R 35 [1988]: 74). Perry, "Some Aspects of the Literary Art of Apuleius in the Metamorphoses p. 202. Ibid., p. 208. B. Perry, "An Interpretation of Apuleius' Metamorphoses Γ ΤΑΡΑ 57 (1926): 242. Similarly, Ε. Burck has argued that the novel's many comic and satiric elements undercut the likelihood of taking seriously the religious conversion in Book 11. See "Zum Verständnis des Werkes," in Metamorphosen oder Der goldene Esel, nach der Übersetzung von A. Rode bearbeitet und kommentiert, pp. 256-309. A. Lesky, "Apuleius von Madaura und Lukios von Patrai," Hermes 76 (1941): 43-74. C. Rubino, "Literary Intelligibility in Apuleius' MetamorphosesClassical Bulletin 42 (1966): 65-69. F. Norwood, "The Magic Pilgrimage of Apuleius," Phoenix 10 (1956): 1-12. Grimai, "L'originalité des Métamorphoses d'Apulée," p. 161. Ε. Haight, Essays on the Greek Romance, p. 192. C. Schlam, "Platonica in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius," TAPA 101 (1970): 477-87. Ibid., p. 479. R. Mortley, "Apuleius and Platonic Theology," AJP 93 (1972): 590.
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49 P. Walsh, The Roman Novel: The Satyr icon of Petronius and the Metamorphoses of Apuleius, p. 182. 50 P. Walsh, "Apuleius and Plutarch," in Neoplatonism and Early Christian Thought: Essays in Honour of Α. H. Armstrong, p. 21. 51 Walsh, The Roman NoveL p. 143. 52 P. Walsh, "Lucius Madaurensis" Phoenix 26 (1968): 143-57. 53 J. DeFilippo, "Curiositas and the Platonism of Apuleius' Golden Ajj," AJP 111 (1990): 492. 54 Walsh, "The Rights and Wrongs of Curiosity (Plutarch to Augustine)" p. 75. 55 H. Mette. "Curiositas," in Festschrift Bruno Snell, pp. 227-35. 56 A. Labhardt, "Curiositas—notes sur l'histoire d'un mot et d'une notion " Museum Helveticum 17 (1960): 206-24. 57 H. Ruediger, "Curiositas und Magie: Apuleius und Lucius als literarische Archetypen der Faust-Gestalt," in Wort und Text: Festschrift für Fritz Schalk, pp. 57-82. 58 G. Sandy, "Knowledge and Curiosity in Apuleius' Metamorphose s Γ Latomus 31 (1972): 179-83. 59 Ν. Shumate, "The Augustinian Pursuit of False Values as a Conversion Motif in Apuleius' Metamorphoses " Phoenix 42 (1988): 53. 60 W. Stephenson, "The Comedy of Evil in Apuleius," Arion 3 (1964): 90. 61 W. Nethercut, "Apuleius' Metamorphoses—The Journey," Agon 3 (1969): 97-134. 62 G. Cooper, "Sexual and Ethical Reversal in Apuleius: The Metamorphoses as Anti-Epic " Latomus Collection 168 (1980): 436. 63 T. Haggs, The Novel in Antiquity. 64 Ibid., p. 182. 65 Ibid. 66 B. Kenny, "The Reader's Role in the Golden Ass," Arethusa 6-7 (1973-74): 199. 67 P. Scazzoso, Le Mel amorlas i di Apuleio: Studio crïîlt ο su I significato del romanzo. 68 R. Merkelbach, "Inhalt und Form in symbolischen Erzählungen der Antike," Eranos Jahrbuch 35 (1966): 145-75. 69 Shumate, "The Augustinian Pursuit of False Values as a Conversion Motif in Apuleius' Metamorphoses Γ p. 58. 70 For a thorough discussion, see my "Origins and Nature of the Eros and Psyche Story," in Love and the Soul: Psychological Interpretations of the Eros and Psyche Myth, pp. 5-13. 71 Norwood, "The Magic Pilgrimage of Apuleius," p. 8. 72 J. Griffiths, "Isis in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius," in AA, p. 149. 73 R. Brown, "The Tales in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius—A Study in Religious Consciousness" (Ph.D. diss., Florida State University, 1977), p. 101. 74 R. Hooper, "Structural Unity in The Golden Ass," Latomus 44 (1985): 399. 75 Schlam, "Scholarship on Apuleius since 1938," p. 293. 76 Winkler, Auctor and Actor, p. 7. 77 Ibid., p. 13. 78 Ibid., p. 124. 79 Ibid.
Chapter 3
Dream Interpretation in the Second Century
Almost the greater part of humankind get their knowledge of God from dreams. — Tertullian
F
rom the emperor's throne to the physician's office to the temple precinct, dreams guided people's lives in the ancient world. The value of dreams was almost universally acknowledged in the Greco-Roman world, and the importance of dreams and their interpretation in the second century cannot be overestimated. Emma and Ludwig Edelstein summarize the extent to which the strata of that society accepted the idea that dreams were a powerful reality which could heal the sick and give human beings a share in divine wisdom: Nobility and plebs, townsfolk and farmers believed in such revelations. Philosophers and scientists admitted that dreams were sent by the gods. Only Epicureans and the adherents of the New Academy objected to such a belief, but even they did not necessarily reject the prophetic and revealing character of dreams.1
Even the Roman Emperor, Marcus Aurelius, testifies to the power of dreams to heal the body and guide the dreamer, stating in The Communings with Himself that dreams gave him antidotes for physical conditions such as vertigo and spitting blood.2 While reflecting on people who oppose or hate him, he reminds himself that the gods also guide them, particularly through dreams: "The gods lend them aid in diverse ways by dream and oracles, to win those very things on which their hearts are set." 3 The emperor manifests the same attitude toward dreams that characterizes others from all walks of life, namely, reverence for the gods who in dreams heal, communicate prescriptions and provide counsel.4 Such beliefs about divine-human communication did not contradict established scientific or philosophical assumptions
Notes to Chapter 3 are on pp. 49-51.
31
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of that time. Even an important medical scientist such as Galen recognized that the gods communicate knowledge through dreams. Although dreams were honoured to an extraordinary degree, agreement was often lacking as to what aspects of reality dreams illustrated and how they should be interpreted. As we shall see, many dimensions of dreams were appreciated, including the somatic, the psychological, the prophetic (precognitive) and the divine. We must start with the practice of dream incubation which had spread throughout the ancient world by the second century CE.
Dream Incubation In its original sense, 4'dream incubation" refers to the practice of going to a holy place to receive a dream in answer to a problem or illness. This practice was seemingly almost universal in the ancient world, as hundreds of "dream temples" were active throughout Greece and the Roman Empire.5 The Greeks developed dream incubation to a high degree and dedicated many temples to Asclepius, the god of medicine. Later, in the Christian era old medical incubation dreams in the shrine of Asclepius were replaced by new incubation dreams at the shrine of a martyr or saint, and pagan dreams were replaced by dreams of Christian religious content.6 In the ancient practice of dream incubation, people would come to the dream temples to pray and sleep in order to be healed by the god himself (i.e., Asclepius) or to receive instruction about which medicine to administer or what action to take in order to be healed. The lights of the sleeping room were extinguished just before Asclepius was expected to make his appearance. According to the testimonies of those healed, the incubant would see the god in a dream during sleep or else in a vi si on like experience in a state between sleep and waking.7 Asclepius appeared in dreams in several typical forms—as a man or a boy, or as a serpent or dog. In the testimonies the god is often described as a bearded man with a gentle and calm face. In some cases he is said to have a sense of humour and to laugh. Asclepius, or his serpent or dog, touched the ailing part of the dreamer's body and then disappeared. Some testimonies even describe Asclepius removing the sickness with a divine kiss.8 Other inscriptions from the dream incubation temples describe the god performing surgery on the patient. The following inscriptions from the temple at Epidauros reveal the kind of operations Asclepius might perform. A man with a stomach ulcer. He slept there and had a dream. He dreamt the god ordered the slaves he had brought with him to seize him and hold him tight so he might cut his abdomen: he tried to get away but they grabbed him and tied
Dream Interpretation in the Second Century
33
him to the operation table; then Asclepius cut open his abdomen, excised the ulcer, stitched him up again, and ordered him untied. After that he emerged healthy, and the floor in the adytum was full of blood. A man of Torone with leechcs. In his sleep here he had a dream. He dreamt that the god cut open his chest with a knife, took out the leeches, placed them in his hands, and stitched up his chest. When day came he emerged holding the worms in his hands, and he became well. 9
These testimonies indicate another aspect of the ancient dream world, namely, that elements of the dream are sometimes found near the dreamer upon awakening. These tokens of the dream world are sometimes called "apports." 10 Two further examples from the inscriptions highlight this strange phenomenon: Euhippos carried about a spear point in his jaw for six years. While he was sleeping here the god extracted the spear point and placed it in his hands. When day came he walked out of here healthy, holding the spear point in his hands. Gorgias of Herakleia. with pus. His lung pierced by an arrow in a battle, he suppurated so profusely for a year and six months that he filled sixty-seven basins with pus. Then he slept here and saw a vision: he dreamt the god removed the point from his lung. When day came he emerged healthy, holding the arrow point in his hand. 11
Such dream tokens testify to the reality of the dream experience and the continuity between dreams and waking life. Not only do the healings effected by Asclepius in dreams carry over into the waking world, but some of the particular dream elements also appear there. While this belief falls short of the view of some societies which maintain that dreams have a greater reality than waking life, it does place the two realities on an equal footing and affirms the interaction between them. In Ancient Incubation and Modern Psychotherapy, C. Meier describes four phases of the incubation rite used by the sick in search of healing: (1) The patient would take a cleansing bath to purify the soul as well as the body; (2) s/he would make preliminary sacrifices to the god, Asclepius; (3) the sick person would sleep on a couch, called a kline, in the Greek temples; and (4) the god would appear in a dream to heal the patient. In the earliest practice only the first night in the temple was decisive. It was believed that in the first incubated dream Asclepius himself would appear and immediately cure the patient. The testimonies also suggest that the procedure, especially from Hellenistic times on, was one where the god does not heal the patient directly but rather advises a treatment to be followed. Moreover, Asclepius' advice was
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Metamorphoses
usually clear and direct, with no need for a priest or professional interpreter to carry out the treatment revealed in the dream. The kind of treatments he recommended ranged widely from eating partridge with frankincense, applying ashes from the god's altar to the affected part, to swimming, bathing or various kinds of exercises.12 A curious feature of dream incubation was the phenomenon of the double dream, in which two people had the same dream or at least part of the same dream. Meier highlights the importance of synchronicity (Jung's term for such meaningful coincidences) in the healing dreams of the incubation temples, noting that the incubants made detailed records of their dreams until they experienced a dream which coincided with the dreams of the temple priest. Meier even offers an example from his own practice in psychotherapy of the coincidence between the therapist's (priest's) dreams and the patient's. 13 Later we shall see how a dream coincidence was crucial in ending a four-month period of illness for Aristides. A curious instance of a double dream is recorded among the inscriptions on the columns of the dream incubation temple at Epidauros. It involves the double dream of a woman named Arata and her mother who went to the temple to dream for her. The inscription reads: Arata, a Spartan woman, a case of dropsy. She remained in Sparta and her mother slept here for her and had a dream. She dreamt the god cut off her daughter's head and hung her body with the neck down; then after a copious effusion he took down the body and put the head back on the neck. After having this dream she went back to Sparta and found that her daughter had the same dream and was now well. 14
This single inscription offers a dramatic example of a double dream, incubating a dream by proxy, and the kind of radical procedure Asclepius sometimes resorted to in healing dreams. Interestingly, the phenomenon of double dreams also appears in the dreamworld of the Metamorphoses, where Isis announces that she is present in two dreams at oncc. She informs Lucius in a dream that she is simultaneously present in the dream of the priest in order to inform him of his role in Lucius' transformation. In certain respects dream incubation in the ancient temples resembles the mystery religions. In both, a dream is often necessary to call a person to the holy place. Pausanias, the great travel guide of the second century, tells us that in certain incubation temples only those may enter who have been chosen by the gods and summoned by a vision in their sleep.15 Similarly, C. Meier states that in the dream incubation temples one had to be summoned to the healing mysteries of Asclepius in order for them to be effective. The summons may have come in the form of auguries during preliminary sacrifices,
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but, regardless of the method used, some kind of "call" was necessary.16 This resembles very closely the picture Apuleius presents of initiation into the cult of Isis,17 where it would be lethal for someone to approach the mysteries without being called. Birth symbolism is another important point of similarity between dream incubation rituals and the religious mysteries. In dream incubation, the incubant is reborn and healed after a journey to the underworld. This is analogous to Apuleius' description of the rebirth ritual in the mysteries of Isis. Meier argues that the healing involved in dream incubation would itself have been the mystery, in the same sense that Aristides called Asclepius' cures "mysteries." 18 The remarkable, widespread practice of dream incubation aptly symbolizes the character and importance of dream interpretation in the second century. Several authors from the second century CE bear witness to it as well, and to their accounts we will now turn.
Second-Century Authors Galen fca. 120-200 CE) Galen, the renowned physician known as the "Father of Experimental Physiology" and the most voluminous of all the ancient medical writers,19 was influenced throughout his life by dreams. Even his decision to study medicine ultimately came from dreams. When Galen was sixteen years old, his father had vivid dreams in which Asclepius told him to make his son a physician. Through this inspiration Galen began his medical studies at a school attached to Asclepius' shrine in Pergamum. In accordance with the medical perspective of the time, Galen considered most dreams to be physiological in nature, caused by excesses in food or drink that disturb the bodily humours.20 The four humours—black bile, phlegm, blood and yellow bile—were thought to govern physical well-being. The somatic dimension of dream interpretation is based on a theory of correspondence between microcosm (the body) and macrocosm (the world and nature), and followed Hippocrates' view that dreams express the condition of the body in terms of nature (such as weather, cycles of growth, the sun, moon and planets). Thus, a dream which reflects what normally happens in the world (macrocosm) would indicate that the dreamer's body (microcosm) is healthy. Conversely, dreams which show irregularities in nature or the planets would mean that there is a disorder in the corresponding body system. For example, in his essay, "Diagnosis from Dreams," concerning the way abnormal physical conditions are reflected in dreams, Galen writes,
36
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Metamorphoses
To see a fire in sleep means this condition is due to yellow bile, to see smoke or fog or profound darkness, black bile, to see a violent rain means it is due to an overabundance of cold humidity, to see snow and ice, an overabundance of cold phlegm. . . . We conclude that the wrestler who dreams that he is standing in a cistern of overabundance of blood requires blood-letting.21
Like Aristotle, Galen believed that in sleep the soul is cut off from most sensations of the external world and thus turns its attention to the condition of the body. For Galen, other physiological dreams are attributed to the soul's ability to imagine whatever it desires so that when the dreamer is thirsty, he or she will imagine drinking and, when hungry, eating to satisfy the hunger. This capacity to picture what one would normally do in response to a physical condition, combined with the occasional ability to sense conditions not yet discernible by a physician, often allows dreams to presage illnesses and diagnoses. While Galen did not believe he could completely explain the predictive character of certain dream diagnoses, he maintained that experience proves such remarkable dream phenomena to be true. In fact, Galen describes how, at the age of twenty-seven, he suffered from an abscess which was diagnosed in two of his dreams. The dreams led him to open an artery in his hand between the thumb and first finger and let it bleed until it stopped on its own.22 Galen reports that he successfully treated many people by applying remedies revealed in dreams. Galen's dreams guided him not only to sense physical conditions and diagnose illness, but also in other life matters. Asclepius appeared in a dream when Galen was thirty-eight and forbade him to go to war. About five years later, when working on his treatise on the anatomy and physiology of the eye, Galen had a disturbing dream which altered his approach to the subject. When he was tempted to pronounce his treatise as sufficiently complété, believing he could successfully omit an obscure point involving the theory of geometry, Galen had a dream in which he was censured for being unfair to the most godlike of body parts and insulting the Creator by not being as thorough as possible in explaining one of the great wonders of physical creation. In response to the dream, Galen returned to the treatise and added the difficult section. Overall, Galen seems to have been aware of a number of levels of dream interpretation, even though he focused mainly on the physiological meanings of dreams. George Sarton maintains that Galen elaborated Hippocrates' earlier classification which had recognized two kinds of dreams, namely, natural and divine.23 For Hippocrates the divine category included prophetic dreams, which foretell events for individuals and even entire cities. Galen refined Hippocrates' categories by recognizing two subvarieties within the natural cate-
Dream Interpretation in the Second Century
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gory: (1) those due to physical causes, such as digestion and sex, and (2) those stemming from a person's concerns and preoccupations. Even though Galen attempted to interpret most dreams according to his physiological doctrine, he did not rule out the possibility of a divine dimension as well.
Tertullian fca. 155-220 CE) Tertullian, the first great Latin apologist of Christianity, is usually considered the major theologian in the West until Augustine. He had a great influence on Augustine, through whom his ideas became a central part of Christian theology, Tertullian was acquainted with the extensive dream literature of antiquity, and in an essay entitled "On the Soul" (De Anima) he formulated a cogent statement of his understanding of dreams and their relation to the soul and God. Tertullian's perspective informed the thought of Western Christians for almost twelve hundred years.24 Tertullian believed that the continual presence of dreams during sleep shows that the soul is always active and in constant motion. He took this to be a sign of the soul's divinity and immortality. Even when the body is asleep dreams show that the soul still has great powers.25 Tertullian objected to the view that sleep represents the repose of the soul or that dreaming indicates the separation of the soul from the body during sleep. Rather he held that the mind's ecstatic experiences in dreams are a kind of madness, but one which we paradoxically remember. We still possess our mental faculties and, even though their powers may be diminished, they still leave us with enough capacity to remember our dreams.26 In the forty-sixth chapter of De Anima, Tertullian surveys the available literature on the importance of dreams and their interpretation. He classifies dreams according to their causes. The most frequent cause he identifies as demons, and most dreams of this origin he believes are untrue. The second cause is God, who sends dreams which are honest, prophetic, inspired and instructive. In regard to divine dreams, Tertullian held that the majority of humankind gets its knowledge of God from dreams. The third cause is nature, and the fourth is the peculiar conditions of the ecstatic dream state itself. This aspect of Tertullian's thought is roughly equivalent to the dynamics of the unconscious.27 Unlike Galen, Tertullian rejects the somatic interpretation of dreams. Dream interpretations based on the time of night, sleep position, conditions of the body, including pressure on the intestines and liver, fasting or eating certain foods, he dismisses as "ingenious conjecture," even if Plato seriously considered such influences. Although he excluded somatic considerations, Tertullian was an astute observer of the dreamworld. He countered those who
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The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses
claimed that infants do not dream with the observation that their movements and facial expressions during sleep indicate that their souls are dreaming. He also maintained that everyone dreams, despite the insistence of many that certain individuals and even some entire nations did not dream. Here Tertullian anticipated the conclusions of twentieth-century sleep laboratory research, which has demonstrated that dreaming is a natural biological rhythm found in everyone. In the preface to another work, The Passion of the Holy Martyrs Perpetua and Felicitas, Tertullian stresses that God not only spoke to the ancients in dreams but continues to send visions and dreams to people of the present day. He locates dreams theologically as one of the gifts of the Holy Spirit which God promised to the church. He connects this view to the prophecy of Joel: "|Y]our young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams." And thus we both acknowledge and reverence, even as we do the prophecies, modern visions are equally promised to us, and consider the other powers of the Holy Spirit as an agency of the Church for which also He was sent, administering all gifts in all. 28
Tertullian obviously regards dreams, from the viewpoint of the Christian church, as an accepted way for God to communicate with human beings. If we link this idea to his view that most of humankind receives its knowledge of God from dreams, then the dream gifts given to Christians by the Holy Spirit are not of an entirely different nature than the dreams sent by God to the rest of humanity. Thus the Christian perspective on dreams in the second century appears consistent with the accepted view of the times, namely, that dreams function as a normal vehicle for communication between human beings and the divine.
Artemidorus (Late Second Century CE) Artemidorus' Oneirocriiica, possibly the most widely known dream book from the ancient world, has been called the "most important dream book from the entire Greek and Roman period/' 29 It furnishes most of the little information we have about its author. Artemidorus was well read and well travelled, collecting his materials from journeys in Greece, Italy and Asia Minor.30 He explains how he not only sought to procure every book on dream interpretation available, but also spent many years discussing this art with the diviners of the marketplace throughout the Roman Fvmpirc. In creating the Oneirocritica Artemidorus drew from a number of dream books lost in antiquity. His is a rational approach which focuses on the psychological meanings of dreams rather than on any influence of the divine on the
Dream Interpretation in the Second Century
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human dreamworld. While his method of dream interpretation takes into account the relevance of particulars about the dreamer and the dreamer's life situation, Artemidorus differs from his ancient Near Eastern counterparts in not emphasizing the dreamer's important social, political or religious position.31 Artemidorus' approach differs strikingly from that of Tertullian and Aristides, in that he had little interest in "messenger" dreams, in which the gods would communicate something of personal, social or religious importance to the dreamer. His lack of interest in divine dreams makes sense, since many of these dreams did not require the services of an interpreter—and Artemidorus was a dream interpreter by profession! He does speak of dreams as "god-sent" but explains that he uses this terminology in a general way, just as people commonly call unexpected events "god-sent." He purposely avoids the question of the ultimate origin of dreams, preferring not to speculate whether they come from the soul or from the gods.32 The other category of dreams which Artemidorus largely ignores is the physical or diagnostic dream. Here he differs from Galen and the medical perspective on the meaning and value of dreams. Yet Artemidorus does recognize that dreams can be influenced by bodily needs and psychologically significant events. He even advises dream interpreters to acquire as much medical knowledge as possible for understanding dreams involving illness, and states that the medical remedies offered in dreams do not contradict medical science. Again, the main reason he does not deal extensively with diagnostic dreams is that they are generally straightforward and do not require the aid of an interpreter.33 In the first book of the Oneirocritica Artemidorus makes a key distinction for his theory, namely, the difference between oneiros and enhypnion. Oneiros he defines as a dream referring to something which will occur in the future, while enhypnion is a dream reflecting present conditions. Examples of enhypnion include a lover dreaming of the beloved, a frightened person dreaming of the feared object or event or a hungry or thirsty person dreaming of eating or drinking. Artemidorus recognizes how dreams incorporate and comment on current conditions of both mind and body. Not only does he believe that dreams may deal with the body and mind's current state, but his observation that dreams often portray one's fears and hopes is consistent with the findings of modern dream interpreters. It is not surprising that Freud regarded Artemidorus highly since he, too, recognized the importance of the day's residue and the impact of wishes on dreams.34 The other type of dream, oneiros, foretells future events. Adhering to this category places Artemidorus squarely in the ancient tradition represented by Homer, who describes dreams as passing through either the Gates of Ivory
40
The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses
(false predictions) or the Gates of Horn (true predictions). In the Odyssey, the wise Penelope describes the difference between these two kinds of dreams: Stranger, verily dreams are hard, and hard to be discerned; nor are all things therein fulfilled for men. Twain are the gates of shadowy dreams, the one is fashioned of horn and one of ivory. Such dreams as pass through the portals of sawn ivory are deceitful, and bear tidings that are unfulfilled. But the dreams that come forth through the gates of polished horn bring a true issue, whosoever of mortals beholds them. 35
The distinction recognizes a remarkable phenomenon which has attracted people's interest to dreams probably for as long as human beings have been dreaming: precognition. While psychoanalysts and psychotherapists employing dreams in our "psychological age" generally look for residues of the past in dreams to determine their meaning, the ancients emphasized the future reference of dreams— their ability to intimate coming events or sense future conditions of both the body and the spirit. Even Plato systematized the arguments supporting the classification of predictive and non-predictive dreams.36 To emphasize the importance of precognition in dream interpretation, Artemidorus mentions that he was late in finishing the Oneirocritica because he was trying to gather only those dreams which came true.37 As a subset of precognitive dreams, he differentiates between " theorcmatic " dreams, which predict future events exactly as they will happen, and 44allegorical" dreams, which represent the future in symbols requiring interpretation to discern their meaning.38 Theorcmatic dreams come true immediately, while allegorical dreams take some time (from a day to much longer) before what is predicted occurs.39 Artemidorus merely mentions, without providing a detailed explanation, a further division of theorematic dreams: those which present future events in images, and those in which a god or some other person appears and announces a future event. He rejects the ancient idea that dreams after midnight and especially at dawn are true or more certain than those before midnight.40 In discussing dream interpretation, Artemidorus stresses that he is practising an empirical science based on long experience and detailed observation.41 His method attends closely to the innumerable details making up the context of the dreamer's situation, such as profession, personal habits, attitudes, marital and financial status, health, age and homeland customs.42 Artemidorus describes numerous situations in which ethnic customs have a bearing on the meaning of dreams. Here he moves away from the idea of fixed and universal symbols operating in dreams and prefigures the more modern approach, which recognizes the importance of the dreamer's associations to each dream symbol for uncovering its unique meaning.
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The kind of particularity guiding Artemidorus' interpretation of dream symbols is seen in his many examples which illustrate a single dream's various possible meanings. One involves a dream in which the dreamer is being bom. Artemidorus explores several meanings of birth symbolism according to whether the dreamer is rich or poor, a craftsman or an athlete, and a variety of other situations. He concludes that the dream bodes well for a poor person since it means someone will be there to care for and nourish him or her, as is true of a newborn infant. But, for a rich person, he says, the dream signifies being ruled by others and unable to govern one's own house, as is also true of an infant. For a craftsperson, the dream indicates unemployment since infants do not work, while for an athlete it means misfortune since infants cannot walk or run, and so on. Artemidorus does not explain why he chooses these particular applications of birth symbolism according to the circumstances of the dreamer, so we are left to wonder about the specific operation of his interpretive procedure. Nevertheless, his alertness to the dreamer's unique personal context for accurate interpretation is noteworthy. Artemidorus' attention to context shines forth in his insistence on considering the dream as a whole and placing individual symbols in the context of that whole. In fact he regards dreams which are not remembered in their entirety as of doubtful value for interpretation. This attempt to locate individual symbols in the dream context helps him overcome the simplistic one-toone substitution of meaning for symbol which is the basis of many dream books or symbol dictionaries even in our own day.43 Artemidorus explicitly urges dream interpreters to call upon their own experience and common sense for understanding dreams rather than relying on set symbols found in dream books to do their work for them.
Aristides (ca. 117-89 CE) One of the most remarkable dream records from antiquity is provided by Aelius Aristides. His work, known to English readers as the Sacred Tales (C. Behr) or Sacred Discourses (A. Festugière),44 has been described as the "earliest continuous dream diary known to Western civilization"45 and "the first and only religious autobiography which the pagan world has left us." 46 It describes Aristides1 night-by-night interaction with the god of healing, Asclepius. Although some of the materials were lost, Aristides preserved five books. These dream journals, filled with over two hundred dreams, are a primary source for understanding dreams in the ancient world. That Aristides' Sacred Tales is a primary source both to his own dreamlife and to dreams in the second century in general poses some problems. His account was written long after Aristides experienced the dreams
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The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses
he describes—something which casts doubt on its reliability and accuracy. Not all the dream records themselves were available when he composed the book.47 as some were lost and others not dated.48 How could Aristides have captured such detail when all that was available to jog his memory were fragments of diary entries? Along with C. Behr, G. Bjorck reminds us that the ancients placed more value on their dream experience than we do and therefore may have had greater capacity to remember their dreams than we do today.49 For our purposes, Aristides' Sacred Tales remain an invaluable, unparalleled source to the dreamworld of the second century CE. Aside from his contribution to the literature of dreams, Aristides was not a major figure of the second century. He grew up in a wealthy family in Asia Minor, was well read and travelled widely. As an orator he went from city to city reading a variety of speeches praising cities, sanctuaries or the gods.50 But just as a promising career in public affairs appeared on the horizon, Aristides was plagued with a series of maladies. For at least twelve years, he suffered from a seemingly endless stream of illnesses, ranging from chronic headaches, asthma, hypertension, insomnia, deafness and shortness of breath to gastric disorders, intestinal pain and tumours. The story of illnesses which led Aristides to the god Asclepius began on a trip to Rome in December 143 CE. Around this time, he began to suffer from various problems such as toothaches, earaches, fever and asthma attacks. He became so ill that he was finally forced to rest at Edessa. He finally reached Rome around March 144 CE, but was still suffering greatly. In his distress, he tried the medical remedies available, but all of them failed and to the local doctors he seemed incurable. Feeling hopeless, Aristides returned to Smyrna and, after a time of suffering there, the doctors could provide neither satisfactory diagnosis nor treatment. His main physical ailments seemed to be fever and asthma.51 It was about December 144 CE when Asclepius first appeared to Aristides in a dream and ordered him to walk barefoot. In the course of the dream itself Aristides carried out this order while he proclaimed the greatness of Asclepius. The god also commanded him to record his dream encounters, to dedicate his dream journal to Asclepius52 and to share his dream experience with others. Thus began Aristides' relationship with Asclepius, which became the virtual focal point for meaning in his life. Aristides travelled to Asclepius' various sacred temples in order to incubate dreams in which the god(s) would appear to him and counsel him on treating his illnesses. Even when he was not in the temple, he would frequently dream of being there and of receiving an appropriate medicine or instructions on eating, fasting or bathing. For example, during a two-week period in Januar)' 166 CE,
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he had five dreams in which he was in either the tempie of Apollo or the temple of Asclepius. In one Aristides sees, in the vestibule of the temple of Asclepius at Smyrna, a statue of himself changing into a statue of Asclepius. This juxtaposition of images, which Freud regarded as a product of the dreamwork mechanism of condensation, shows the close identification of Aristides with the god who came to guide so many of his decisions and actions. In another dream during this period Aristides finds himself in the Temple of Apollo at Mount Milyas. He hears someone speak about a medicine which he interprets as a fitting drug for a cold, and he tells the priest that there is no need to eat. Upon waking he interprets this as a recommendation to fast and decides to fast the next day. This straightforward kind of directive in his dreams—and Aristides' commitment to acting upon such messages—is a striking and characteristic aspect of his appreciation of dreams and the practice of dream incubation. Aristides also provides an instance of dreaming by proxy. In September 147 CE, while suffering from stomach and chest troubles, Aristides travelled to Lebedus. A famous doctor, Satyrus, gave him a drug for his ailments and in the course of treatment Aristides developed a severe chest cold and cough. Aristides decided to consult Asclepius about his illness and general constitutional weakness. But Aristides was not well enough to make the journey himself, so he decided to send his foster father Zosimus to the temple at Colophon to get the god's advice. Zosimus obliged and in the temple received an oracle informing him that Asclepius would treat Aristides' disease and heal him. On the same night Aristides himself dreamed that he saw statues of the gods on which were engraved inscriptions commemorating an individual who had been saved from death and had consequently given sacrifices to the gods. He interpreted the dream as referring to his own situation and believed that the inscriptions anticipated his own recovery. As a result of this dream, and out of gratitude for the benefits that the god bestowed upon him, he inaugurated sacrifices to Asclepius and soon was well again. A dramatic example of Aristides' dreams guiding the treatment of his illness occurred during a four-month period from October 147 CE to January 148 CE. A tumour or boil began to grow in his groin and soon became so enlarged that the entire area was severely swollen.53 After Aristides had endured agonizing pain and fever for a few days, his doctors insisted on surgery or cauterization and warned him that if he did not follow their advice, he would die from the resulting infection. Contrary to these dire warnings, Asclepius told Aristides in a dream not to follow the doctors' advice but to endure the growth. Although under considerable pressure from his doctors and friends, Aristides concluded that "there was no choice between listening to the doctors or to the god." 54
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The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses
A remarkable dream coincidence finally brought this siege to a close. On the same night that Asclepius appeared to Aristides in a dream to reveal that a drug would combat the swelling, the god also appeared in a dream of Zosimus, Aristides' foster father, and told him the same remedy. A further coincidence involving this same dream occurred when Aristides sent a messenger to Zosimus to tell him about his dream, and at the same time Zosimus himself came to Aristides to tell him of the remedies he received from the god in his own dream. When Aristides applied the suggested remedy to the affected area, he found that most of the swelling quickly receded. According to his report, at that point both his friends and his doctors ceased their sharp criticisms and were amazed at how Asclepius had intervened on his behalf. After a few more days, the swelling completely disappeared. In this example Asclepius ordered Aristides not to follow the usual médical practice. What is even more remarkable is that god ordered him to do several strange things as a part of the cure—including running barefoot in the winter, riding horseback while the inflamed growth was its worst and even getting seasick by sailing across a stormy harbour. In his "Egyptian Discourse" Aristides comments on the unorthodox medical advice given by Asclepius and the other gods who treated him in dreams: "For they (the saviour gods) have cured us through means which seem to be the very opposite of what you would expect and which one would especially avoid " 5 5 Regarding the painfulness characteristic of many of these paradoxical admonitions, E. Dodds views them as an apparent expression of an unconscious desire for self-punishment. He dismisses these "divine dreams" as a form of "age-old superstitions": "there is little to be said for a system which placed the patient at the mercy of his own unconscious impulses, disguised as divine monitions."56 A. Festugière offers a more balanced view of these paradoxical commands and their real value: "Since the imagination plays a large part what the patient needs most is the companionship of the god " 5 7 Festugière does not deny the psychological element in Aristides' illness and cure, but places the emphasis where it belongs, namely, on the central importance of the entire dream process in establishing and maintaining a relationship with the god. Granting that Aristides was "as much a confirmed neurotic as a famous rhetorician," C. Meier presents the most positive view of Aristides' reliance on Asclepius and his relationship to the god. Meier believes that Aristides avoided the danger of extreme vanity because he ascribed his personal successes to the divine.58 One final example shows the kind of paradoxical advice Asclepius sometimes gave. Aristides describes a divine manifestation in which the god appeared to be both himself and Apollo at the same time. Although it was
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winter, the god commanded him to follow a boy who would lead him to the river where he was to bathe. Friends and doctors followed them to the river to observe this unusual event. Aristides states that he was still warm from the vision of Asclepius as he tore off his clothes and leaped into the deepest part of the river. After swimming around a while he came out of the icy water and, by his account, felt no discomfort from the freezing temperature and the blustery north wind. Aristides reports that bystanders were astounded at what he had just done and shouted praises to Asclepius for preserving him through such an extreme regimen. He adds that, following his icy swim, he felt an exceptional warmth throughout his body and high spirits during the entire day. He also describes being in a kind of altered state of consciousness in which he could not focus on the world around him because his mind was filled with thoughts of Asclepius.59
The Divine Dimension of Dreams in Aristides and His Contemporaries The divine dimension is at the forefront in several dreams in Aristides' Sacred Tales. But one prominent critic, E. Dodds, renders a reductionist interpretation of the divine elements in these dreams.60 He criticizes the way Aristides interprets even very ordinary dreams as "divine," and questions the paradoxical and even seemingly cruel prescriptions Aristides receives from the god. Dodds even compares these commands of Asclepius to the penances of Isiac devotees and the self-inflicted torments of the Desert Fathers. He notes how the god began the relationship to Aristides mostly as a medical advisor and then gradually extended his influence to Aristides' entire life. Dodds regards this close relationship as a "curious symbiosis," and interprets the dream in which Aristides sees his own statue transform into one of Asclepius as symbolizing healing through "self-identification with the image of an ideal Father."61 This Freudian line of interpretation may help us understand some of the psychological dynamics involved in Aristides' relationship with Asclepius, at least from a psychoanalytic perspective, but it fails to do justice to Aristides' own understanding of this relationship. To understand Aristides' experience, consider a valuable distinction Dodds himself makes between the dream experience and the memory and interpretation of that experience. In The Greeks and the Irrational, Dodds wondered whether the difference between ancient and modern dreams might depend both on the character of the dream experience and on its interpretation, which is shaped by the cultural pattern of the society providing its context. By the time he wrote Pagan and Christian
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in an Age of Anxiety, he inclined more toward the view that the dream experience of ancient times was probably very similar to the experience of today, and that any differences should be attributed to the way the dream is remembered according to cultural expectations. Dodds is obviously drawing upon considerably different cultural assumptions as he struggles to make sense of Aristides' dreams and interpretations, and this may help explain his reductionistic attitude toward them. A more fruitful approach to understanding ancient dreamers and their dreams is to place greater emphasis on the dreamer's (Aristides') own interpretation of the dream and the cultural assumptions underlying his interpretation. A. Festugière makes a slightly different but related point regarding the remarkable consistency of Aristides' dreams in seeing Asclepius giving him orders night after night. He too grants that Aristides' dreams were likely much more diverse than implied by the accounts recorded in the Sacred Tales. Festugière argues that Aristides' faith in the god governed his interpretation of dreams rather than the other way around. Determining the line of causality here may not be as easy as Festugière implies, but his observations do call attention to the interconnection between one's faith or worldview and one's dreams. We cannot be certain that the faith comes first, since this conclusion may be a product of twentieth-century secular assumptions about the divine dimension of dreams. However, given the almost universal heritage of the world's religions that dreams are a principal vehicle of divine revelation, it is precarious to assert, without qualification, that one's faith and worldview might not be shaped by divine revelation in dreams. On balance, Festugière's emphasis on how personal faith and cultural assumptions influence dream interpretation bears directly on our discussion. Festugière points out that Aristides shared with nearly all his contemporaries a common belief in the healing power of Asclepius. This belief no doubt influenced Aristides' expectation that the god might rescue him when his doctors had given up on his case. What Festugière fails to emphasize, but which is equally important, is the common ancient belief that the divine communicates with humans through dreams. Festugière focuses primarily on the crisis of Aristides' illness as the key factor which converts him to personal religion. Crisis and illness are indeed often the occasion, or the precipitating cause of conversion to a more deeply held personal form of religion. However, it is also significant that dreams are the primary vehicle for personalizing the common faith of Aristides' time and culture. As we have seen, it is in the realm of dreams that Aristides meets the god Asclepius and in which his personal commitment to him occurs. Even as we acknowledge the powerful influence of cultural assumptions and an indi-
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vi dual's worldview on dreams, we must not imagine that dreams can offer nothing beyond the limits of an individual's and a culture's present horizons. Like Dodds, Festugière presents many examples where Aristides believes he is receiving advice from Asclepius though the god does not himself appear in the dream. Such cases show how far Aristides was willing to go in believing that even the most common dream was a message from the divine. Granted, faith and expectation clearly influence the dream's interpretation. But this does not deny the special character of those other, more powerful dreams where the god does appear and where the divine character of the dream may be less a matter of ingenious interpretation than of an overpowering dream experience. Certainly some of Aristides' dreams are of this latter type. Aristides himself underscores the importance and power of his union with the god Asclepius, a union which transforms the meaning of his life. For example, he describes a powerful dream vision in which Asclepius tells him that his mind is to be transformed by communion with the god and, as a result of this union, he will transcend the human state: "[Hie said that my mind was to be rapt from my present state of life; that when it was so rapt, I should be made one with God, and being made one with God, I should have transcended our mortal state."62 Here Aristides hints that immortality is an integral part of his union with Asclepius. Aristides' dreamlife brought him into relationship not only with Asclepius but also with the Egyptian god, Serapis. When Aristides was overwhelmed with grief over the death of his foster father, Zosimus, he had dreams of Serapis in which the gods of the underworld communicated to him that he should give up his deep grief for his dead friend. As C. Behr remarks, since the religion of Asclepius lacked a belief in an afterlife, Asclepius could not console Aristides in his mourning. Asclepius was the god of medicine and mainly concerned himself with saving people in this world.63 As such, he was unable to reveal the mysteries of the afterlife to Aristides and left Serapis to fulfill that role. As Behr suggests, Aristides was an eclectic polytheist in this regard—his religious beliefs were inconsistent and determined by momentary enthusiasm or external pressure. In another dream of the underworld Aristides saw terrifying images of the regions above and below the earth, and the power of the god Serapis to carry people to wherever he wishes. Aristides referred to this dream experience as a kind of "initiation," 64 a statement which appears to confirm the similarity of dream incubation to the mystery religions in both involving the revelation of a god or goddess.63 The powerful impression such experiences of divine revelation had on Aristides is evident when he describes another of his visions of Asclepius. Here he speaks of tears of joy at the ineffable experience of initiation in the
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presence of the god. The emphasis on personal communion with the divine is the hallmark of Aristides' dream experience. Thus it is the divine dimension of his dreams that should be our focal point if we wish to understand Aristides' dream experience, rather than idiosyncrasies of his hypochondria or other personality quirks. As we have now seen, the divine dimension of dreams is prominent not only in Aristides but also in the scientist Galen, the apologist Tertullian and in the widespread practice of dream incubation throughout the ancient world. Even beyond the dream incubation temples, gods appearing in dreams were part of the larger cultural pattern of the period.66 In fact, Bouché-Leclercq states that almost all people in antiquity believed in divine revelation through dreams.67 Two of the most prevalent beliefs throughout the second-century Greco-Roman world, among all strata of society, were a belief in the presence of the divine in dreams, and a belief in a god as the author of dreams. These assumptions about dreams are crucial to the plot of the Metamorphoses. Just as the Homeric works conformed to the cultural expectations of that period and utilized message dreams, so Apuleius draws upon the cultural view of regular interconnections of gods and humans in creating the religious dreamworld of his novel.68 Even Artemidorus, who declined to discuss the ultimate origin of dreams, did not deny that some dreams may be sent by god and uses the term "god-sent" to indicate that dreams show unforeseen things. What is unmistakable in Artemidorus is the importance of predictive dreams, which have long been associated with the divine.69 He recognizes that one main form of "theorematic" dreams is the dream oracle, in which the divine (or some person) appears and foretells a future event. Artemidorus' summary of the categories of predictive dreams, as we have discussed, shows how deeply ingrained dream precognition was in the society of the second century. By the time Apuleius wrote the Metamorphoses, the three chief categories of predictive dreams were (1) the allegorically predictive dream, which required an interpreter to understand the meaning of the dream symbols, (2) the straightforward predictive dream, in which future events take place as they appeared in the dream, and (3) the dream oracle, in which the divine or someone else appears and foretells some future happening. A recurring theme in the dreams of the Metamorphoses is reference to future events. The prominence of precognition in Apuleius' novel demonstrates a significant way in which literary dreams imitate real dreams in the second century. As we turn now to the dreams of the Metamorphoses, we shall see how both precognition and experience of the divine play a crucial role in Apuleius' dreamworld.
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Notes 1 E. and L. Edelstein, Asclepius: A Collection and Interpretation of the Testimonies. vol. 1, p. 157. 2 M. Aurelius, The Communings with Himself, translated by C. Haines, p. 25 (ch. 1, 17). 3 Ibid., p. 247 (ch. 9, 27), 4 Marcus Aurelius became widely known as a dream-giver after his death. 5 See A. Bouché-Leclercq, Histoire de la divination dans l'antiquité, vol. 1, p. 277, and R. de Becker, The Understanding of Dreams or the Machinations of the Night, translated by M. Heron, p. 147. 6 See E. Dodds, Pagan and Christian in an Age of Anxiety, p. 46. 7 Edelstein and Edelstein, Asclepius, vol. 1, p. 150. 8 Ibid., p. 153. 9 Quoted in N. Lewis, The Interpretation of Dreams and Portents, pp. 39-40. 10 E. Dodds, The Greeks and the Irrational, p. 106. 11 Quoted in Lewis, The Interpretation of Dreams and Portents, pp. 38-41, 12 Edelstein and Edelstein, Asclepius, vol. 1, pp. 151-52. 13 C. Meier, Ancient Incubation and Modern Psychotherapy, p. 61. 14 Quoted in Lewis, The Interpretation of Dreams and Portents, p. 39. 15 Pausanias, Guide to Greece, translated by P. Levi, vol. 1, p. 492 (Bk. X, 9). 16 Meier, Ancient Incubation and Modern Psychotherapy, pp. 56-58. 17 Met. 11,21. 18 Meier, Ancient Incubation and Modern Psychotherapy, pp. 115-16. 19 J. Walsh, "Galen's Writings and Influences Inspiring Them," Annals of Medical History, n.s. 6 (1934): 1-7. 20 R. Siegel, Galen on Psychologyt Psychopathology and Function and Diseases of the Nervous System: An Analysis of His Doctrines, Observations and Experiments, pp. 169-72. 21 Quoted in Walsh, "Galen's Writings and Influences Inspiring Them," p. 7. 22 Ibid., p. 7. 23 G. S art on, Galen of Pergamon, p. 83. 24 M. Kelsey, God, Dreams and Revelation: A Christian Interpretation of Dreams, p. 114. 25 Tertullian, De Anima, in Works in the Ante-Nicene Fathers, vol. 3, ch. 45. 26 Ibid. 27 Kelsey, God, Dreams and Revelation, p. 115. 28 Tertullian, Works in the Ante-Nicene Fathers, vol. 3, p. 699. 29 B. Kilborne, "Dreams," in Encyclopedia of Religion, edited by M. Eliade, vol. 4, p. 488. Kilborne contends that Artemidorus' Oneirocritica is "by far the most comprehensive and systematic treatment of dreams before Freud." 30 Artemidorus, The Interpretation of Dreams (Oneirocritica), translated by R. White, Bk. 1, prologue. 31 A. Oppenheim, The Interpretation of Dreams in the Ancient Near East, pp. 184-97. 32 Artemidorus, Oneirocritica, Bk. 1,6 and Bk. 4, 2. 33 Ibid., Bk. 4, 22. 34 R. White points out that the belief that dreams were a continuation of one's activities during the day was widespread in the ancient world, and particularly in the
50
35 36 37 38 39 40
41 42 43
44
45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53
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The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius'Metamorpho\<ν Epicurean literature (Artemidorus, Oneirocritica, Bk. 1, p. 68). Arthur Osley adds that Freud is very close to the dream-interpretation method of Artemidorus. Both Freud and Artemidorus interpret dream symbols by opposites; they both advocate knowing as much about the dreamer as possible; and in both methods of interpretation each dream element is examined separately. See A. Osley, "Notes on Artemidorus' OneirocriticaΓ Classical Journal 59 (1963): 65-70. Homer, Odyssey, in The Complete Works of Homer, translated by S. Butcher and A. Lang, vol. 19, pp. 562ff. Plato, The Republic, Bk. IX. Artemidorus, Oneirocritica, Bk. 5, prologue. Ibid., Bk. 1,2. Ibid., Bk. 4, 1. Ibid., Bk. 1, 7. Some dream interpreters believed that indigestion or the influence of wine would be less likely to interfere with dream divination toward morning. See R. White's commentary in Artemidorus, Oneirocritica, p. 69. BouchéLeclercq suggests that Artemidorus rejected this idea because it had its origins in astrology (see Histoire de la divination dans Γ antiquité, vol. 1, p. 317). Artemidorus, Oneirocritica, Bk. 1, prologue. Ibid., Bk. 1, 9. How innovative Artemidorus was is noted by Raymond de Becker; "For the first time in dream literature we see the emergence of something different from simple equivalents for isolated images. Artemidorus takes into account the context of these images and the dream scenarios in which they appear" (The Understanding of Dreams or the Machinations of the Night, p. 194). C. Parsifal-Charles translates the title as the Sacred Teachings (see The Dream: 4,000 Years of Theory and Practice, vol. 1, p. 18. A. Festugière explains that the Greeks used Hieros Logos to mean a sacred legend which justifies a rite of special worship such as an initiation ceremony; Hieros Logos may be translated as "an account of the apparition of a god or goddess who makeä a revelation" (Personal Religion Among the Greeks and Romans, p. 88). C. Meier adds that Hieros Logos was also a technical term for the mystery myths, thereby connecting Aristides' dreams to those mystery cults in which the person is called to initiation by a god in a dream (Ancient Incubation and Modern Psychotherapy, p. 115). Parsifal-Charles, The Dream, p. 18. Dodds, Pagan and Christian in an Age of Anxiety, p. 40. A. Aristides, Aelius Aristides and the Sacred Tales, translated by C. Behr, p. 116. Dodds, Pagan and Christian in an Age of Anxiety, p. 40. G. Bjorck, "onar idein: De la perception de la rêve chez les anciens," Eranos 44 (1946): 307. Festugière, Personal Religion Among the Greeks and Romans, p. 85. Aristides, The Complete Works, vol. 2, p. 293. Aristides, Aelius Aristides and the Sacred Tales, p. 223. C. Behr notes that this "tumour" may have only been a swelling and that Dr. R. Leclercq diagnosed Aristides' condition as an omental hernia which later strangulated. See Aristides, The Complete Works, vol. 1, p. 428. Ibid., p. 288. Ibid., vol. 2, p. 222. The Edelsteins' collection of testimonies shows a number of cases where the god's precepts seemed paradoxical to the current medical theories
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57 58
59
60 61 62 63 64
65 66 67 68
69
51
or the expectation of the patient (see Asclepius, vol, 1, pp. 153-54). The unorthodox character of Asclepius' advice here sharply contrasts with Artemidorus1 view that the gods' advice does not contradict medical science {Oneirocritica, Bk. 4, 22). Dodds. The Greeks and the Irrational, p. 116. Dodds sees most, if not all, of Aristides' ailments as psychosomatic (see Pagan and Christian in an Age of Anxiety, p. 41). Festugière, Personal Religion Among the Greeks and Romans, p. 86. Meier, Ancient Incubation and Modern Psychotherapy, pp. 62-63. Dodds fails to grant that Aristides1 relationship to the divine allowed him to avoid psychological inflation (Pagan and Christian in an Age of Anxiety, pp. 43-45). This state seems to resemble the mystical state William James describes as the goal of certain types of methodical mysticism, in which the mind is so preoccupied with the divine that the person sees angels while wide awake. James also speaks of a semi-hallucinatory mono-ideism whereby an imaginary figure of God fully occupies the mind (see The Varieties of Religious Experience, pp. 310-12). Apart from the physical repercussions of his midwinter swim, Aristides appears ecstatic over the way Asclepius singled him out for such extraordinary treatment, providential care and close friendship. Dodds, Pagan and Christian in an Age of Anxiety, pp. 41-54. Ibid., p. 45. Oratio L, 50-52. This translation is taken from Festugière's Personal Religion Among the Greeks and Romans, p. 96. Festugière, Personal Religion Among the Greeks and Romans, p. 170, and Edelstein and Edelstein, Asclepius, vol. 2. p. 129. See Aristides, Aelius Aristides and the Sacred Tales, p. 25, note 45, Behr expands on this saying that it is an initiation into the secrets of the underworld (ibid., pp. 317 and 434). Meier, Ancient Incubation and Modern Psychotherapy, pp. 115-16. Sec Dodds, The Greeks and the Irrational, ch. 4, and Kessels, "Ancient Systems of Dream Classification," p. 396. Bouché-Leclercq, Histoire de la divination dans l'antiquité, vol. 1, p. 278. Regarding the importance of divine dreams in the earliest literature, Harry Hunt observes in The Multiplicity of Dreams that their prominence in existing sources does not necessarily mean they were the original norm of dreaming, but merely that ancient Greek civilization placed great emphasis on the sacred. Hunt supports our claim about the cultural influence on dreams. Later in the Christian tradition, dreams caused by demons were also thought to foretell the future, usually in insignificant matters and without any good reason (see Kelsey, God, Dreams and Revelation, p. 168).
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Chapter 4
Dreams in the Metamorphoses
We are such stuff as dreams are made on and our little life is rounded with a sleep. — William Shakespeare
T
he Metamorphoses contains not only literary dreams but also elements of dream theory which shed light on the novel's dreamworld. Apuleius offers fragments of dreams, not complete dream reports, which bear on the story or further the plot. While these elements of dreams and dream theory do not permit a full interpretation of the dreams presented, they do illustrate the remarkable breadth of the dreamworld Apuleius portrays. We must now consider the passages dealing with dreams and dream theory, and then examine how they relate to the dimensions of reference employed in dream interpretation.
Aristomenes' Story (Met. 1,6-19) What is the relationship of the dreamworld to waking reality? Apuleius refrains from offering a theoretical answer to this question, and instead relates a story of magic, adventure and terror. The story of Aristomenes and Socrates, appearing almost at the beginning of the Metamorphoses, presents a strange world where the realms of magic, dream and reality co-exist. In this story, we see from the inside what such a world might look like. First, consider the context in which Aristomenes' bizarre tale is set. Lucius has just begun his journey to Thessaly, the land of witches and magic, and also the land from which his mother originates. He is riding his white horse and stops to rest. Feeling cramped from sitting so long in the saddle, he decides to have some breakfast at the side of the road and let his tired horse graze. A short distance away he spies two men and walks over toward them. He overhears a conversation in which one of the men shouts at the other that he cannot stand such an absurd and incredible tale of magic. Lucius is intrigued by this exchange, as he is always interested to learn more about the
Notes to Chapter 4 are on pp. 77-79.
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uncanny aspects of nature and magic. He immediately joins the discussion and takes the side of the storyteller, Aristomenes. Pointing out that rare events in life often escape the human mind's capacity to grasp them, Lucius scolds the incredulous listener for his obstinacy and closed-mindedness. Here Lucius reveals himself as one who is open to the possibilities of a realm which defies reason and yet has a real influence on the world of everyday reality. Buoyed by Lucius' encouraging remarks, Aristomenes begins his tale again so that Lucius might hear it in its entirety. He swears that his story is absolutely true. The story can be summarized as follows: While away on business in Hypata, Aristomenes stops off to refresh himself after an unsuccessful day at the market. At his rest site, he runs into an old friend, Socrates, whom he can just barely recognize. Aristomenes is shocked to see his old friend looking like a street beggar, pale and thin, wearing a filthy, torn cloak. He asks Socrates whether he knows that he has been officially listed as dead, that his children have been made wards of the provincial court and that his wife is being urged to re-marry, and he inquires as to what has happened to Socrates that has put him in such an awful state. Aristomenes helps his friend clean up and drags him back to the inn, where he gives him plenty of wine and food. After a bit of joking together, Socrates breaks down and confides to Aristomenes how he ended up in his miserable condition. Socrates recounts how, on returning home from a business trip in Macedonia with a large amount of money, he was waylaid by bandits. Although they took everything from him, he finally managed to escape. He eventually ended up at an inn run by Meroe, an attractive woman sympathetic to his plight. She fed him and allowed him to stay at the inn for no charge but he must sleep with her. Gradually she gained complete power over his will and took everything from him. Socrates is still in awe of her great magical powers as he tells Aristomenes how she changed her enemies into animals such as a beaver, frog or horned ram. She has the whole town terrified and even as Socrates tells this tale, he is afraid the witch Meroe will magically know about it and punish him. He and Aristomenes plan to start early the next day to travel as far away from Meroe as possible. Having had a good deal of food and wine, Socrates falls asleep quickly. Aristomenes locks and bars the bedroom door, and even pushes the head of his bed against the door because he is uneasy about Socrates' stories of Meroe's uncanny powers. Around midnight Aristomenes is awakened by a crash. The door bursts open, tearing off its hinges, and tosses him into the air so that he lands with his bed on top of him. He is terrified to see two old women enter the room, one carrying a lighted torch and the other a sponge and sword. The witches, Meroe and her sister, Panthia, threaten to tear him to pieces for saying nasty things about them earlier in the evening. Meroe approaches the sleeping Socrates, drives a sword into his neck and pulls his heart out through his throat. Panthia then seals the wound with her sponge. On their way out the witches squat over Aristomenes and urinate on him. After they leave, the door magically returns to its locked position with the hinges and bar intact.
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Aristomenes panics as he realizes that he will likely be blamed for Socrates' death. He wants to escape but the porter refuses to open the gate for him. Preferring suicide to crucifixion as punishment for killing his friend, Aristomenes tries to hang himself from the rafter over his bed but fails when the worn, old rope breaks. The noise from his fall brings the porter shouting to find out what is going on. To Aristomenes' astonishment, Socrates awakens and springs to his feet. This brings Aristomenes great relief, since he now thinks that the entire episode with the witches was only a nightmare. As the two begin their journey on the next day, however, Aristomenes cannot quite get the nightmare out of his mind and he keeps looking over at Socrates' throat to see if there is any sign of where the sword struck him in the "dream." Aristomenes is unable to spot even a scar which finally convinces him that the dream must have been brought on by too much food and wine. He does tell Socrates, though, that he is still reeling under the impact of an awful dream he had last night. To Aristomenes' astonishment, Socrates relates that he also had a nightmare in which his throat was cut and his heart was removed. As Socrates describes the horrible sensations of this dream his knees tremble, he turns pale, and he starts to feel ill. Witnessing this, Aristomenes begins once again to question the reality of the whole experience. Then he watches in horror as Socrates bends over to drink some water from a brook. For when he does so, the wound in his throat opens and a sponge falls into the water. Socrates is already dead by the time Aristomenes drags him to the top of the bank. After burying Socrates by the brookside, the terrified Aristomenes runs for the wilds and never again returns to his wife and children.
When Aristomenes finishes this story his fellow traveller again derides it and asks Lucius if he believes any of it. Lucius' answer reveals much about his attitude to life and the range of possibilities in the dreamworld: "I think nothing impossible; for whatsoever the fates have appointed to men, that I believe shall happen. For many things chance unto me, and unto you, and to diverse others, wonderful and almost unheard of, which being declared unto the ignorant be accounted as lies" 1 (Met. 1, 20). Lucius declares that he believes Aristomenes' story, even though much of it goes against reason and the normal course of nature. His words "nothing is impossible" (nihil impossible) symbolize well his attitude not only toward magical aspects of Aristomenes' story, but also toward the uncanny world with which he himself becomes involved. As Lucius hears Aristomenes' story, he wonders about the relation of the dreamworld to reality. In the story there is a fluid shifting from waking reality to the dreamworld and back to waking reality again. That the key magical events take place around midnight, just when Aristomenes is falling asleep, emphasizes the potential overlapping of waking and dream realities. Even Aristomenes is unclear about which reality he is participating in at any given moment. For, although he was initially convinced that the witches actually
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did break into the room and kill Socrates, later, when Socrates wakes, Aristomenes' previous certainty departs. That both Aristomenes and Socrates fall asleep quickly after consuming a large quantity of food and wine might lead the reader to consider the entire horrifying experience as a product of drunken sleep. In commenting on this story, John Winkler suggests how Aristomenes' statement to the porter: "And you in your drunken (ebrius) delirium accused me of killing him in the night" might further persuade the reader to suspect that the whole situation was a bad dream induced by alcohol.2 Aristomenes suggests the same thing when he says to Socrates: Verily it is not without occasion that physicians of experience do affirm, that such as fill their gorges abundantly with meat and drink shall dream of dire and horrible sights, for I myself (not restraining mine appetite yesternight from the pots of wine) did seem to see in this bitter night strange and cruel visions.3 (Met. 1, 18)
Here Apuleius utilizes the physiological or somatic view of dreams which, as we saw in Chapter 3, existed alongside the religious view in antiquity. The novel's brief digression on the somatic dimension of dreams gives some temporary relief from the terror of Aristomenes' situation, since it allows him to make sense of what has just happened to him. It is a brief attempt at a rational solution to an extremely bizarre experience. The physiological theory of dreams does not, however, explain why Aristomenes still smells of urine. Socrates seems to answer the problem when he suggests that Aristomenes' drinking caused him not only to have nightmares but also to wet the bed. Another possibility is that Apuleius is drawing upon the ancient tradition of dream "'rapports" or "apports" and that the urine is a dream omen, a physical element from the dream that is left behind and found in waking reality when the dreamer awakes. We have already seen how this tradition underscores the close relationship between dreaming and waking reality, and the difficulty of determining where one reality ends and the other begins. The reality shifts again when Socrates agrees with Aristomenes about wine causing nightmares yet goes on to describe his own dream of having his throat cut: Verily I myself dreamed this night that my throat was cut and that I felt the pain of the wound, and that my heart was pulled out of my belly, and the remembrance thereof makes me now to fear, and my knees do tremble that I totter in my gait, and therefore I would fain eat somewhat to strengthen and revive my spirits.4 (Met. 1, 18)
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With this the reader is thrown back into doubt about what is real and what is a dream. Could Aristomenes and Socrates have shared the same dream? Or is the fact that they both had the same experience evidence that the event actually happened in waking life? Simultaneous dreams and people sharing each other's dreams, as we shall see later, are part of Lucius' own dream experience in the course of his initiation into the mysteries of Isis. In our current example, the possibility of a kind of double dream adds to the sense of uncertainty about the witches' intrusion, so that the fact that both men experienced the same event is no guarantee that it occurred in waking reality as opposed to dream reality. The decisive factor here is Socrates' sudden deterioration with the appearance of the scar and the sponge. Only this event confirms that the horrible experience with the witches actually happened. Such contradictions and confusion between waking and dreaming tell a great deal about the nature of reality and Lucius' view of the world. No doubt the sudden shifts that take place in Aristomenes' and Socrates' perception of reality, along with the juxtaposition of dream and waking worlds, adds to the story's dramatic effect. As von Franz suggests, Lucius enjoys the story aesthetically and evades the question of whether it is true or not. Evidence in the text supports Lucius' aesthetic appreciation of the story when he thanks Aristomenes. At the same time, however, he also expresses his belief in the story: "But verily I give credit unto his tale, and render entire thanks unto him in that (by the pleasant relation of this pretty tale) he hath distracted us so that I have quickly passed and shortened this long and weariful journey" 5 (Met. 1, 20). The text indicates that Lucius does believe what he has heard, and this aspect of his reaction should not be overlooked when trying to appreciate Lucius' experience of the dreamworld. In his worldview, dream and waking are interpenetrating realities, and his attitude that "nothing is impossible" relates as much to this interconnection as to his interest in the power of magic. When we approach Aristomenes' story as one clue to understanding the dreamworld of the Metamorphoses, we should keep von Franz's hypothesis in mind. Von Franz argues that this and other inserted stories in the narrative of Lucius' adventures are actually dreams and can best be interpreted using dream analysis. She assumes that they were written by Apuleius in a state of lowered consciousness and consequently represent the unconscious side of his psyche. She even hypothesizes that Lucius represents Apuleius' ego and self,6 This suggests that figures in the dreams and inserted stories could represent aspects of Apuleius' personality of which he is less aware. Such a hypothesis represents the subjective dimension of dreams, the dimension which assumes that the dream portrays the psychological state of the dreamer rather than a possible encounter with other realities.7
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In our present example, Aristomenes is witness to uncanny and magical events. He does not believe what he sees, but on another level he knows he has directly experienced a mysterious and magical world. Using von Franz's line of interpretation, then, Aristomenes might represent that part of Apuleius which accepts the reality of magic and transformation because at a deep level he has experienced this reality—or at least recognizes these possibilities as part of his worldview. But this voice of certitude is not the only one in our example, as there is also the detractor, who criticizes and undercuts the reality and value of the other world. This critical voice is not unlike the twentiethcentury attitude which regards magical and mystical transformation as illusions at best, as exemplified by Freud's The Future of an Illusion. As Apuleius has presented Aristomenes' tale, it is a story within a story. Lucius is telling the story of his listening to Aristomenes' story. In dream interpretation this would be akin to a dream within a dream, a fragment which symbolizes an important aspect of the dream. In this fragment, Aristomenes meets an old friend, Socrates, who has been undone by thieves and witches. An educated reader in the second century would most likely associate Socrates with the ancient Greek philosopher who embodied reason and control of the emotions. Von Franz considers this association in her interpretation: As you know, at least as described by his pupil Plato, Socrates' endeavour and philosophical ideal was to be apathes which means not to have, and not to display, strong emotions. To have absolute emotional detachment was one of the main aims in Socrates' search for wisdom. He displays this apatheia, as is wonderfully described by his admirer Plato, right up to the end of his life, even when in prison and drinking hemlock at his execution.8
The woeful tale of Socrates then might well be a statement about what happens when reason and emotional control face the powerful world of witchcraft as represented by Meroe and her sister. Reality, as pictured here, is a realm where uncanny magic and transformation overwhelm and finally destroy a detached, rational approach to life. The witches pull the heart out of Socrates just as their powerful magic takes the life out of the critical attitude which he represents. Even Aristomenes, who gives witness to the reality of magic and transformation, gets "pissed on" by the representatives of that very power, Meroe and Panthia. This phenomenon seems nicely to parallel Lucius' own experience in the world of magic, where his curious dabbling leads to the awful consequence of being trapped in the body of an ass. As Lucius is just beginning his travels to the land of magic symbolized by Thessaly, when he encounters Aristomenes, the latter's story (or in von Franz's terminology,
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dream) seems to forecast some of the negative aspects of his own experience and spiritual journey. Ronald Brown maintains that the story portrays the downward movement of Lucius' spiritual odyssev. seeing it as a warning to Lucius about the dangers of magic. Such an interpretation affirms the notion of a dream's ability to predict and portray possible consequences which, as we have discussed, was a prominent dream theory in the second century. Brown's description, therefore, would fit very well the interpretation of this story as Lucius' dream: The tale of Aristomenes has served to underscore the katabasis toward which Lucius is voluntarily moving, but the story is also intended as a specific warning of the dangers involved in tampering with the unknown. Far from arresting Lucius' interest, the tale has served to further increase his fascination and attraction to the unknown.9
Brown also points out that Aristomenes' attitude of curiosity resembles that of Lucius, in that both lead to similar consequences: some form of mutilation. If we continue along von Franz's line of interpretation, Aristomenes would represent one of Apuleius' dream figures, which symbolizes a characteristic that is very close to consciousness, namely, the curiosity which drives Lucius and which is such a strong motivating factor in the whole novel. In summary, Aristomenes' story clearly has a foreshadowing function. It might have served as a warning to Lucius about the dangers of magic, and it certainly anticipates his own disastrous experiences with the realm of magic. Perhaps an even more important function of Aristomenes' story, however, is that it emphasizes the interplay of dream and reality which is so fundamental to the dreamworld of the Metamorphoses. John Winkler relates the dreamlike character of his story to Apuleius' introducing factors beyond natural events: The reality Aristomenes experienced seemed dreamlike because it was determined all along by higher-than-natural laws. The incredible events that he really experienced are not simply reported to us, they are continually being weighed, doubted, reinterpreted in a narrative process whose focal point is the prolongation of radical uncertainty and whose resolution is an affirmation of the incredible.10
Winkler nicely captures the character of uncertainty and the influence of the supernatural world, both of which play an important role in the novel's dreamworld. Aristomenes' story sets the tone of the entire book, and creates an ominous sense of uncertainty about waking and dream realities and the relationship between them. Such blurring of the boundary between dream and waking reality is an experience most of us have had at one time or another when we awake from a particularly realistic dream. For Apuleius, and many
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of his contemporaries, however, this uncertainty about that boundary appears to be an accepted fact of life, a part of their overall worldview.11
Thelyphron's Story (Met. 2,21-30) The story of Thelyphron is similar to Aristomenes' story in raising fundamental questions about the relationship between dream, waking reality and magic. While the story does not contain a dream as such, it revolves around peculiar events which happen to a character who is asleep. At a supper party at her home, Byrrhena asks Thelyphron to tell Lucius and the others the story of a bizarre experience that happened to him when he was travelling through Thessaly as a university student. Here is his story in brief: Thelyphron comes across a man making a public announcement offering to pay a large sum of money to anyone who will guard a corpse overnight. Since he has spent all of his money, Thelyphron inquires about the job. He learns that someone is required to watch the dead body because witches are known to take pieces off the faces of corpses for their magical concoctions. What makes the job especially difficult is that the witches can transform themselves into animals or insects in order to steal the body parts. Thelyphron takes the job because he believes it is an easy way to make money since he needs little sleep. While guarding the corpse, he keeps his spirits up by singing. All appears to be going well until around midnight, when a weasel squeezes through a hole in the door. Thelyphron chases it away, but as it leaves the room he is suddenly overcome by a deep sleep. When he wakes at daybreak, he runs to the corpse to see if it is still intact and is greatly relieved that everything seems to be in order. When the widow returns to view the corpse, she pays him the amount agreed upon. Later Thelyphron watches the funeral procession and is surprised when a relative of the dead man charges toward the open coffin screaming for vengeance. He accuses the widow of having poisoned her husband to get his estate and to cover up a secret love affair. Then he calls upon Zatchlas, an Egyptian necromancer, to call forth the dead man's soul and to reanimate the body. The crowd is amazed as the dead man returns to life and proceeds to explain to them how his wife arranged his death. Some of the people there argue that evidence provided by a dead man is untrustworthy and should not be accepted. In response, the dead man says that he will verify what he has claimed by revealing something that only he could know. Then he points to Thelyphron and recounts how he fell asleep on the job and that while asleep the witches took the latter's nose and ears and fitted him with wax facsimiles. Terrified, Thelyphron checks his nose and ears and sure enough, they fall off. Byrrhena's guests laugh as Thelyphron explains that his long hair now covers his lack of ears and his present nose is made of canvas and only glued into place.
Thelyphron's story is presented as party entertainment, but its theme clearly relates to other more serious dream phenomena included in the Metamorphoses. Just as in the case of Aristomenes, magic enters the world at
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night through the doors of sleep. According to Thelyphron's story, what occurs during sleep produces results which influence the sleeper and seem to contradict the laws of waking reality. As in Aristomenes' story we are not sure what is dream, what is magic and what is waking reality. Both stories share common themes contributing to this confusion: transformations of people into animals and vice versa, the dead returning to life and psychic phenomena. What is revealed in both stories—and throughout the Metamorphoses—is a repetition of these themes presented from varying perspectives and with varying degrees of seriousness. This adds to the atmosphere of uncertainty in Apuleius' work, and it also helps explain why scholars continue to debate whether a serious intent runs through its incredible diversity.
Charite's Dream of Tlepolemus' Death (Met. 4,25-27) Another significant characteristic of the novel's dreamworld is the view that dreams often provide access to knowledge about the future. We saw earlier what a fundamental category precognition was to dream theorists in the second century. Apuleius places his story squarely in the heart of this tradition. One of the dream sequences which highlights this aspect of dreams is Charite's dream of Tlepolemus' death. We encounter Charité while she is in the intolerable situation of having been kidnapped by a band of robbers just before her intended wedding to Tlepolemus. The robbers, who hope to gain a ransom for the girl, bring her into a cave where Lucius, in the form of an ass, has also been taken. It is at this point that Apuleius presents the myth of Eros and Psyche. The Charité story serves as the springboard for the telling of this tale, as the function of the latter appears to be that of distracting the despairing Charité from her helpless predicament. As a story about lovers being separated and then reunited, it offers some hope for her own situation. Before hearing the tale, however, Charité, in tears, has fallen asleep and has had a terribly disturbing dream: For I saw myself dragged violently out of the house, out of the marriage-suite, out of the bedroom, out of the very bed—out into the trackless deserts where I called on the name of my luckless husband. And he, as soon as he found himself widowed of my embraces, came following me, still dripping with unguents—following me as I fied on feet not my own. And while he was crying oui distractedly that his beautiful wife was stolen, and clamouring for people to help him, one of the robbers was so enraged at this persistent pursuit that he snatched a stone lying at his feet, and threw it at my poor young husband and killed him. It was this ghastly sight that terrified me awake out of my dreadful dream.12 (Met. 4, 27)
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What we do not discover until much later in the story is that Charite's dream contains elements of precognition. For, as Lucius hears from one of Charite's household servants, Tlepolemus has been killed. Here is the story the servant relates: Thrasyllus, one of Charite's most aggressive suitors, pretends to become a close friend of the couple, with the intention of killing Tlepolemus and claiming Charité for himself. Thrasyllus gets a chance to implement his evil plan on a hunting expedition he takes with Tlepolemus. While others in the hunting party are hiding from a wild boar, Thrasyllus persuades Tlepolemus to attack the hoar with him. After Tlepolemus throws his javelin at the fierce and dangerous animal, Thrasyllus slashes the horse Tlepolemus is riding. Tlepolemus is thrown to the ground and attacked by the boar, and Thrasyllus makes certain that Tlepolemus does not survive. He thrusts his lance into Tlepolemus so that it will look like a wound caused by the wild animal's horn. Since no one has seen the murder, Thrasyllus believes he will be undetected. In the hope of still winning Charité as his own bride, he feigns overwhelming grief at Tlepolemus' funeral.
To some degree, then, Charite's dream of the death of her husband is symbolic in that it does not portray the exact circumstances in which Tlepolemus will actually be killed. The dream shows her current situation in light of recent misfortunes; it incorporates elements from the day of the dream (the day's residue, in Freud's terms) and summarizes her current physical and psychological situation. The rest of the dream continues with a symbolic portrayal of the future event in which Tlepolemus is killed. In the dream he dies at the hand of one of the thieves who throws a huge stone at him, whereas in actuality he is killed by Thrasyllus' lance. The dream's linking of Tlepolemus' killer with a "thief" is significant, however, as it reveals an element of truth. Thrasyllus, as one who tries to steal Charité from her husband, is truly a thief. Further, the fact that Tlepolemus is killed at all in the dream reveals another crucial element of truth. Thus, while the dream is precognitive in these respects, it is not the type of precognitive dream which pictures future events in exact detail. Rather, it does so in symbolic terms. The key point here is that Apuleius has made the dream's prediction accurate, and this places it squarely within the second-century theories of dream interpretation. At the end of Chapter 3, we saw that three types of predictive dream were recognized at the time Apuleius wrote the Métamorphosés—the allegorically predictive dream, the straightforward predictive dream and the dream oracle. In the allegorically predictive dream the symbols could only be deciphered by a skilled interpreter, while in the straightforward predictive dream future events take place exactly as they appear in the dream, making an inter-
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preter unnecessary. In the third type, the dream oracle, a god or goddess appears and foretells a future event. Here, as with the straightforward type, an interpreter is not necessary to understand the meaning of the dream. Since Charite's dream is of the symbolic variety (type one above), interpretation is required. When Charité awakes and tells this nightmarish dream to the old lady who is with her, we encounter the familiar second-century dream theory of contraries, where dream images mean the opposite of what they show. In an attempt to console Charité, the woman assures her that dreams often portray exactly the opposite of what will come to pass: My lady, take a good heart unto you. and be not afraid at feigned or strange visions or dreams, for as the visions of the day are accounted false and untrue, so the visions of the night do often chance contrary; and indeed to dream of weeping, beating, and killing is a token of good luck and prosperous change, whereas contrary, to dream of laughing, filling the belly with good cheer, or dalliance of love, is a sign of sadness of heart, sickness of body, or other displeasure. 13
We have already noticed that although Artemidorus did not elaborate on the theory of interpretation by contraries or opposites, it is implied in many of his interpretations.14 According to this theory, if a dream shows something that seems to be good, the fulfillment of the dream will be bad, and vice versa. Pliny the Younger, who lived into the second century CE, expresses this belief in his well-known letter to Suetonius, where he responds to Suetonius' request to have a case he is defending postponed because he had a terrifying dream about it. Pliny tries to encourage Suetonius, by reminding him that dreams may present images actually contrary to the outcome of the situation portrayed. "In the meanwhile it is very material for you to recollect whether your dreams generally represent things as they afterwards fall out, or quite the reverse. But if I may judge of this dream that alarms you by one that happened to myself, it portends you will acquit yourself with great success."15 Pliny recounts how, as a younger man, he had a dream that seemed to predict a disastrous outcome for a case he was preparing. Despite the dream, he went ahead with the case and was so effective that it marked a brilliant beginning for his successful career. If this theory of interpretation by contraries has a modem ring, it is probably because Freud considered transformation into opposites to be one of the major mechanisms of the dreamwork whereby latent dream thoughts (the ideas that generate or are behind the dream) are changed into the manifest dream (the dream as remembered or reported). For him, representation by opposites was an important principle in understanding dream symbols. According to Freud, one way the dreamwork disguises an underlying dream
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thought which is unacceptable to the conscious mind is to turn it into its opposite. The centrality of this dream mechanism led to Freud's interpretive rule that every element in the manifest dream can stand for its opposite: "Thus an element in the manifest dream which is capable of having a contrary may equally well be expressing either itself or its contrary or both together: only the sense can decide which translation is to be chosen." 16 Freud relates this odd and, as he calls it, "archaic," aspect of the dreamwork to the development of language. He refers to the way certain primal words in ancient languages also carry antithetical meanings; for example, the Latin word alius can mean high or deep, and sacer can mean sacred or accursed. He considers the interpretation by opposites to cover a variety of instances where meaning is reversed in dreams. Freud also observes that dream emotions may be subject to the dreamwork mechanism of reversal into opposites. He sees this as an aspect of dream censorship which is not unlike the kind of pressure we may sometimes feel when we are urged to smile though angry or to be affectionate at the same time we experience destructive impulses. For Freud, this kind of reversal can hide affects attached to the latent dream thoughts which might be too disturbing to the conscious mind. While Freud did not have precognitive dreams in mind with respect to the rule of interpretation by opposites, the principle remains basically the same when applied to understanding these dream symbols. To return to Apuleius' use of this dream mechanism, then, we discover that he plays it against the theory of dream precognition. WThen the old lady calls upon the theory of contraries, she does so to defuse the emotional power of Charite's disturbing, precognitive dream. Apuleius pits the accuracy of precognitive dreams against the unreliability of dreams expressed in the theory of contraries. By doing so he presents the complexity and uncertainty of the dreamworld in its capacity to foretell the future. Since, as it turns out, the prediction in Charite's symbolic dream is correct, we can conclude that although Apuleius recognizes the possibility of deception in regard to dream foreknowledge, he arranges the outcome of the plot to support the accuracy of dream precognition.
The Eros and Psyche Myth as a Dream (Met. 4,28 to 6,24) Sequentially, the next dream to appear in Apuleius' narrative is the Eros and Psyche myth, which is discussed at length in Chapters 5 and 6. Here we should simply note that this story contributes significantly to the novel's overall dreamlike character and its emphasis on dreams. As we shall see, this
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story can best be viewed as an archetypal dream which both recapitulates Lucius' experience up to the point at which the myth appears and forecasts the crucial transformation and conversion which produce the novel's climax.
Charite's Dream of Tlepolemus* Ghost (Met 8,8) The second dream sequence involving Charité takes place after she is freed from the robbers' cave and following the tragic murder of her husband, Tlepolemus. In a state of deep depression, refusing for a time to eat and care for herself, she is finally persuaded to return to the duties of living. She does so half-heartedly, for she has little interest in life and continues to long for her dead husband. Thrasyllus continues to pursue her and press the subject of remarriage despite her lack of feeling for him. Although Charité is as yet unaware of his role in her husband's death, she is so unready for such a proposal that she faints at his persistence. When she regains consciousness, she asks for some time to consider the matter carefully. This is the prelude to her second dream. Greatly troubled, Charité falls asleep with her eyes bathed in tears. She dreams that her dead husband appears with streaks of blood on his face and tells her that if she is ready to marry again he has no objection, so long as she does not choose Thrasyllus. Tlepolemus reveals the truth about his murder which was made to look like a hunting accident, and he warns her to have nothing to do with Thrasyllus. The shock of this dream wakes Charité with a start. Now her mind is in agony and she tears at herself with her nails until she bleeds. While Chante tells no one about the dream, she trusts its vision and sets her heart on revenge for the murder of her husband. She decides to string Thrasyllus along and asks for some time to deal with her feelings for her dead husband be ίο re she agrees to marry again. Hinting at this dream about Thrasyllus1 involvement in Tlepolemus' death, Charité urges Thrasyllus to wait longer so that her husband's ghost does not become resentful and perhaps even bring about Thrasyllus' own death. Thrasyllus is not appeased even by the reasonable suggestion that they wait until the next year to marry. He continues to insist on an earlier union until Charité finally pretends to give in. She arranges for a meeting at her home in the darkness of night when no one else is around except her nurse. The nurse leads Thrasyllus to the bedroom and tells him to wait there since Charité has been called to her father's home because he is ill. Thrasyllus is given some drugged wine to drink while he waits. He has no idea of the plan and drinks the wine until he falls into a heavy sleep. At this point the nurse calls Charité, who enters the bedroom and pauses over him as he sleeps. As Charité studies Thrasyllus, she wonders what he might be dreaming, She shudders to think that he might even be dreaming of
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Charite's second dream manifests two striking aspects: (1) the appearance of the spirit of Tlepolemus and (2) the revelation about his tragic death at the hands of Thrasyllus. This is both a spirit-world dream and a psychic dream. In it Charité is able to discover what no one but Tlepolemus himself has witnessed.17 This remarkable aspect of the dream coincides with a peculiar feature of certain psychic dreams, namely, that information not available through the ordinary senses is communicated by someone who is no longer alive but now in the spirit world. To a degree, this dream has characteristics of an incubated dream, in that it comes in response to Charite's experience of being pressured by Thrasyllus. She feels unready to enter into another relationship, yet she is being required to respond to his insistent appeals. The dream clarifies her confusion and resolves the uncertainty about how to deal with this undesirable situation. Another common aspect of dream experience is also observable in this second dream. Not only does Charité discover details regarding her husband's death, but at the same time she learns about the character of her present suitor. The dream shows him in a light completely different from his pledges of love and fidelity. This capacity of dreams to present events experienced during the day in a different light has been observed by many who follow their dreams, whether in a therapeutic setting or not. Some refer to this feature of dreams as "perceptiveness in depth." Jung has emphasized how this type of perception often comes to compensate the perspective of consciousness, which is frequently one-sided and misses things. For example, someone we are impressed with in a first meeting may show up in our dream later that night as a shady character or a swindler. The dream may go much farther than the first impression of conscious observation to penetrate to deeper aspects of character.
The Dream of the Baker's Daughter (Met. % 31) Another dream dealing with a visitation by spirits of the dead is found in the story of the baker to whom Lucius was sold while still in the form of a donkey. Here is the story in brief:
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The baker's wife is an adulteress, and on one particular occasion when the baker discovers an adulterer hiding in the house, he beats him, chases him away and divorces his wife. Angered at being divorced, the wife procures the aid of a sorceress, either to effect a reconciliation with her husband or else to bring about his death. When she is unable to produce the reconciliation, the sorceress contacts the ghost of a woman who died violently in order to kill the baker. Shortly after this, an old lady who is dressed in rags and grieving appears in the bakehouse. She approaches the baker, takes him by the hand and leads him to his room as if she has something important to say to him in private. They remain in the closed room for a long time until the workers arrive to inform the baker that they need more wheat. When there is no answer, they suspect something is wrong and break down the door. They find no trace of the woman, but they see the baker hanging from a rafter with a noose around his neck. The day after his funeral, the baker's daughter arrives from a nearby town where she lives and, although no one has spoken to her about her father's death, she knows exactly what has happened. She is aware of the details of the entire situation, because in her dream the spirit of her father appeared with a noose around his neck and revealed to her not only the events surrounding the divorce, but also the black magic and haunting which led to his untimely end.
In this story, as in Charite's second dream, we see again the prominence of the spirit-world dimension and how it is connected with psychic knowledge, In both cases a spirit from the dead enters the dream to provide knowledge not available through the ordinary channels of the senses; the departed souls reveal not only the manner of their death but also the hidden character of those who arranged for their death.
Lucius' Dream of Isis (Met. 11,6) This central dream of Lucius, which comes in answer to his earnest prayer to be released from his imprisonment in the body of an ass, will be fully discussed in Chapter 7. Here we should note only its pivotal significance in Lucius' life and in the plot of the novel. In the dream Isis appears and addresses Lucius' desperate situation. She says she is moved by his prayers, promises to help him and foretells he is to come upon the roses which will change him back into human form. She also indicates that at the very moment she is in his dream, she is simultaneously in the dream of one of her priests, instructing him on his role in Lucius' metamorphosis. A prime feature of this dream is the way it follows immediately upon Lucius' urgent prayer to the goddess. Thus the dream revelation may be seen as an answer to his current situation, and, as we shall see, it resembles an incubated dream. Also noteworthy are the presence of the goddess, her accu-
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rate prediction of the following day's events and her simultaneous appearance to her priest in a kind of "double dream."
Lucius5 Nightly Dreams of Isis and Dream of Candidus9 Return (Met. 11,19-20) After his conversion experience, Lucius takes up a dwelling within the precinct of the temple so that he can worship Isis continuously. He comments that every time he sleeps he has visions of the goddess and that, while living in the temple, his daytime contemplation of her carries over into the hours of sleep. In these dreams she counsels him on his forthcoming initiation. Finally she indicates that the time for his initiation into the mysteries is at hand. Although Lucius is excited about the prospect, he still has some misgivings about the demands such a step will entail. In this state of indecision he experiences the following dream: the chief priest appears with his lap full of gifts. When Lucius asks the meaning of these gifts, the priest replies that they were sent from Thessaly along with his slave, Candidus. Upon waking from the dream Lucius puzzles over its meaning, especially its reference to the slave, Candidus, since he never had a slave by that name. At dawn of the next day, after the opening ceremonies of the temple, Lucius is amazed at the arrival of the servants he had left behind when he was turned into an ass. They also bring with them Lucius' old horse, Candidus, who had been sold and then recovered again. Lucius is immediately struck by the prophetic power of his previous night's dream as he realizes that it was a symbolic portrayal of the forthcoming return of his servants and his horse. Thus, not only docs this dream serve as a further illustration of a symbolic, precognitive dream (as was the case with the first of Charite's dreams), but it also reveals one way in which these symbols may be condensed. The dream does not show the servants returning with Lucius' horse (as a theorematical dream would); rather, it combines in a single image the return of his servants and his horse.
Lucius' Dreams of the Priest of Osiris and of the God (Met. 11,27-30) In this instance Lucius is troubled by a dream in which Isis tells him about religious mysteries and rites of initiation. He wonders about her statements, since he has already been fully initiated into her cult. When he consults a priest about this, he is told that while he has been initiated into the mysteries of the goddess, another initiation still awaits, this time into the cult of the
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supreme father of the gods, Osiris. Lucius is told to wait for a summons from the god. On the next night Lucius has the following dream. He sees a devotee of Osiris reciting to him the necessary conditions for a feast celebrating religious initiation. The priest then shows Lucius an injury on the priest's left foot, which gives him a slight limp. Lucius takes this as a sign that will allow him to recognize the priest when he sees him again. On the day following this dream, he notices a priest who looks and walks exactly like the one in his dream. When Lucius approaches the man, he is surprised to find that this priest has already been informed about Lucius' coming initiation. It turns out that, on the previous night when the priest was placing garlands on the statue of Osiris, he heard the statue say that a man from Madaura who must be initiated into the sacred mysteries was being sent to him. This is a dramatic example of simultaneous visionary experiences associated with a powerful dream, and very similar to the idea of "double dreams," in which two people experience the same dream. After Lucius' striking double dream, he has further dreams of Osiris which reassure him about his third initiation. The god urges him not to assume that the need for another initiation means something was omitted in the earlier ones, but rather to see the repeated initiations as a special sign of divine favour. Osiris further declares that, with divine guidance, Lucius will rapidly advance in his legal career.
Dimensions of Dream Reference The dream experiences presented in the Metamorphoses are remarkably diverse, and call out for cataloguing in terms of the various possible dimensions of dream reference. The term "dimensions of dream reference" indicates that dreams refer to different levels of reality. Keeping in mind that any given dream may refer to one or more of these dimensions assists us in dream interpretation by making available a wider spectrum of possible meanings of a dream. To oversimplify somewhat, there are two essential aspects of dream interpretation: (1) uncovering the meaning of dream symbols and (2) discovering what the dream refers to. These two tasks overlap and frequently, when the meaning of the main symbols in a dream becomes clear, we can figure out what facet of reality the dream illuminates. Conversely, if we know a dream's reference, the meaning of the dream's symbols often becomes apparent. The following way of listing the dimensions of dream reference is useful and comprehensive: (a) The somatic dimension portrays the dreamer's experience of his or her own body. When Hippocrates used dreams to diagnose physical disorders,
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he was dealing with the somatic reference of dreams. In his view, a dream which pictures how the sun, moon, planets, weather and cycles of growth normally behave would indicate that the dreamer's body is healthy. Irregularities in the cosmos pictured in dreams could indicate problems in the corresponding microcosmic body system, as for example dream images of drought or flooding might refer to anaemia or high blood pressure as part of the dreamer's physical condition. We observed earlier that Galen followed this type of somatic interpretation of dreams. (b) The subjective dimension pictures the dynamics of a person's mental life and is at the heart of psychological methods of dream interpretation. Freud established scientifically the importance of this dimension, although subjective aspects of dreams were already recognized in antiquity. Freud showed that dreams are not random and meaningless but connected to the dreamer's psychological life. When the subjective dimension is taken to the extreme, every element in the dream may be considered to represent an aspect of the dreamer's psyche, as is the practice in Gestalt dreamwork. (c) The objective dimension refers to realities outside the dreamer's psyche. The images of people, places and things which appear in dreams may provide another perspective on these aspects of the external world. This perspective often includes a view of how the dreamer feels about these realities at a deep level (d) The past dimension refers to significant, traumatic or unintegrated experiences which occurred in the dreamer's past. Such dreams help to consolidate past experiences with the present cognitive framework as a person attempts to finish incomplete gestalts. Some dream images from the past show how certain aspects of the dreamer's present circumstances are similar to persons, places or situations experienced before. Other images from the past may even anticipate the future, by showing how the outcome of a current situation may resemble what was portrayed in the past situation. (e) The present dimension synthesizes ongoing experience by means of symbolic thought. Problem-solving and discovery dreams, so often featured in the biographies of inventors and scientists, come as an answer to the dreamer's current questions or difficulties. This dimension frequently portrays the present state of the psyche, which is often the starting point for psychotherapy. This dimension is at least partially involved in many dreams in the Metamorphoses. (f) The future dimension is one of the most difficult to comprehend from our conscious perspective on time and space. How can the dreaming mind extend into the future? Scientists have not yet been able to provide theoretical principles explaining how such experiences occur; nevertheless we
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must deal with the phenomenon of dream precognition, which has been reported by both ancient and modern dreamers.18 While this dimension tends to be downplayed today, it was considered one of the most important perspectives on dreams in the second century CE—and in Apuleius' novel. (g) The telepathic dimension indicates those dream images which refer to what is in the mind of another at a distance, information which we could not know through the ordinary channels of the senses. Like precognition, this dimension is difficult to comprehend, but the data indicates the reality of such phenomena,19 (h) The spirit-world dimension is one of the oldest recognized. The Babylonians and Assyrians, for example, believed that bad dreams are caused by spirits of the dead and demons. Certain North American Native communities continue to believe that the dreamer's soul travels to the land of the dead, and thus the images of the dead in dreams are thought to indicate the real presence of these spirits.20 (i) The divine dimension is based on the testimony of nearly all the major religions that dreams are a fundamental way in which God is revealed to human beings. Often traditional figures such as Moses, Jesus, Mohammed, the Buddha or Isis symbolize the divine presence and revelations of the divine will. This dimension plays a salient role in Lucius' conversion as described in Book 11 of the Metamorphoses. (j) The archetypal dimension refers to those dream images which appear consistently across various cultures and periods of history. Because of the seeming universality of these images and motifs in dreams, mythology and folklore, Jung considered them to be generated by innate psychological structures which he called archetypes. Many of these images refer to God and the spirit world. The major difference between the archetypal dimension and the divine or spirit-world dimensions may only be the dreamer's belief that the dream is presenting timeless psychological images rather than actually encountering spirits or the divine symbolized in the dream. These dimensions of dream reference are working hypotheses which we can apply provisionally to see if they shed light on the meaning of a dream. In dream analysis, verification of such hypotheses is normally found in their effect on the dreamer. A specific hypothesis is typically considered productive or valid if it (1) leads to an insight or "aha" experience for the dreamer; (2) permits a number of elements of the dream to fall into place; (3) fits in with other dreams of that dreamer; (4) squares with other observations about the dreamer's life; and (5) helps to move the dreamer's attitudes and actions in a positive direction. Here we are not concerned with validating these dimensions of dream reference in the literary dreams of the Metamorphoses,
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though we would be in a psychotherapeutic setting. Rather, such dimensions can function to provide a checklist for, and thus help illustrate, the wide range of dream experience in the novel. The dreams outlined in this chapter illustrate many important aspects of the dreamworld of the Metamorphoses. In fact, the material related to dreams throughout the novel touches upon, to some degree, all the dimensions of dream reference we have listed.
Dream Dimensions in the Metamorphoses Somatic Dimension The story of Aristomenes introduces the physiological theory about dream causation. Both Socrates and Aristomenes try to rationalize their horrifying encounter with the witches as a nightmare caused by too much food and wine before going to sleep. While Apuleius' application of the physiological theory is a rather narrow subset of the somatic dimension, it does recognize that the state of the body (which, in the present example, includes food and drink being processed by the stomach) is reflected in the images of the dream. When something is out of order in the body, due to surfeit or drunkenness, it will appear in the dream's images and actions. For Socrates and Aristomenes, their speculation about the somatic origins of their terrifying experience is incorrect. In this story as elsewhere, Apuleius introduces an element of the secondcentury dreamworld which, while acknowledged, is not given a pivotal role in the plot, though it does help create suspense. While he is aware of rationalistic and potentially reductive arguments, often used to deny the power of dream and dreamlike experience, he does not direct the plot to support them. He uses the same method with Charite's first dream. There, the theory of dream opposites is introduced by the old woman to dismiss the precognitive potential of Charite's nightmare. In both scenarios the development of the plot does not confirm the reductionistic positions represented in the story.
Subjective Dimension The subjective dimension does not figure prominently in the dreamworld of the Metamorphoses. The type of dreams presented there, combined with the absence of the dreamer's personal associations to the dream symbols contained therein, limit our ability to determine the subjective dimension of these dreams. In certain dreams, however, we can speculate on the basis of story context and the dreamer's situation how the dream reflects the dreamer's subjective state. For example, consider the subjective elements in Charite's
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dreams. Specifically, her dream of Tlepolemus' death reflects her anxiety about being taken away from her family and lover. It is easy to see how this anxiety might be translated into images of her lover's death at the hands of the robbers who have already shown themselves to be cruel and dangerous. As we have already noted, her dream can be seen as a symbolic type of precognitive dream, but this does not exclude the possibility of a subjective dimension as well. It may be that the subjective constellation of psychological contents (namely, anxiety over a current situation) is what allows the mind to forecast possibilities from the current situation. In Charite's second dream subjective elements can also be observed. Charité falls asleep exhausted from the entreaties of Thrasyllus and receives in her dream Tlepolemus' revelation about the true nature of his death. Aside from the spirit-world dimension of dream reference (suggested by Tlepolemus' return from the dead with the blood of his lethal wounds still visible), we might also regard his appearance as an aspect of Charité which is still very much attached to her husband. Psychologically, she is conflicted between this attachment and Thrasyllus' appeals for her hand in marriage. In this light, we could view the revelations about Thrasyllus' character as the dream's attempt to resolve her own inner conflict. B. Hijmans implies this dimension by suggesting that Charité has possibly misled herself into believing that Thrasyllus is evil and has murdered her husband.21 If this is so, the dream images which are actually reflections of Charite's own anxieties have been mistakenly interpreted by her as a true revelation by the spirit of her dead husband. This example reveals the complexity of interpreting dreams which might involve several dimensions, and it highlights the possibility of self-deception in such a process. Without the ability to validate the dream's various interpretations with Charite's direct participation, we can only speculate whether the dream involves a revelation from the gods or spirits of the dead, whether it is a reflection of her own wishes or anxieties or both.
Objective Dimension The objective dimension of dreams is evident in cases where the dream provides information about the external world. In the Metamorphoses the source of this information is often attributed to the gods or the spirits of the dead, and it is also connected with foreknowledge of coming events. The combination of the divine (or spirit world), objective and future dimensions of dream reference in a single dream, whether occurring in Apuleius' novel or in the ancient world in general, illustrates how these dimensions frequently overlap. Just such a combination of dimensions is what we observe in Charite's dream of Tlepolemus' ghost. The assumption behind the story is that this
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dream sheds crucial light on events that actually happened in the external world. The dream indicates how Tlepolemus was killed and also reveals the true character of Thrasyllus.22 Similarly, Lucius' dreams often reflect this combination of future, divine and objective dimensions. His first dream of Isis indicates exactly what will happen on the following day in regard to his transformation back into human form. His dream about the priest of Osiris is another example of foreknowledge of concrete future events. In both cases such knowledge sprang from a divine source. More generally, dreams in the Metamorphoses are used to illuminate the uncertain character of the external world. This is especially true in the stories which involve blurring the line between dream and waking reality, as in those of Aristomenes and Thelyphron. These stories use dreams to emphasize the magical possibilities inherent in the external world—possibilities which resemble common dream themes such as transformations of humans into animals and vice versa, as well as transitions from life to death and back again. This commentary on the malleability of external reality helps establish the novel's strange atmosphere and furnishes its underlying theme. Throughout, dreams provide the "psychological form" underlying the novel's structure and punctuate its key events.
Past Dimension The past dimension of dreams in the Me tarn orphoses differs somewhat from its counterpart in modern psychotherapy. In the therapeutic context the past frequently emerges in dreams in the form of indigestible elements or incomplete gestalts from earlier experiences which the psyche is struggling to work over and integrate. At the extreme end are traumatic experiences which seem to replay endlessly as nightmares. In contrast to this model, the past dimension in Apuleius' novel serves to reveal what actually happened in the past. As such, it serves much like the future dimension as a revelation of the unknown. In both therapy and the Metamorphoses, the dream brings forward elements from the past in such a way that the truth about the past can be discovered. In the therapeutic application of such information, material regarding the past allows a person to recover and integrate experiences which may burden the mind and interfere with healthy psychological functioning. In the Metamorphoses, such material adds to our knowledge about the story and furthers the plot. This feature of dreams appears in Charite's dream of her husband's ghost. In it, her husband reveals what actually happened in the apparent hunting accident perpetrated by Thrasyllus, thus providing Charité with a basis on which she can deal with the tragedy. Assuming that the dream furnishes accu-
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rate information, it also enables her to see through the plot of Thrasyllus and to punish him for the evil he has brought about. The baker's daughter's dream is similar, in that the truth about the past is communicated again by a spirit from the dead: the baker appears with a noose around his neck, indicating how he died and revealing the intrigue surrounding his death.
Present Dimension The present dimension is involved in several dreams in the Metamorphoses insofar as they include a reflection of, or a response to, present circumstances. As we saw earlier, Charite's first dream might be considered a dramatic portrayal of her dilemma at the time of her dream. The dream may reflect her anxieties about the possible outcome of her situation, symbolically portrayed as a nightmare about the robbers killing Tlepolemus. As such, the dream incorporates her present experience of being kidnapped. Another dream clearly incorporating the dreamer's present circumstances is Lucius' first dream of Isis, in which she comforts him in his desperate situation entrapped in the body of an ass. Even if one ignores this dream's divine dimension and views it simply as a compensation for Lucius' despair, the dream is unquestionably a direct response to his current dilemma. Similarly, some dreams which Lucius has while associated with the cult temple of Isis invariably incorporate his current situation, especially as he awaits instructions on the correct timing of his initiation into the mysteries.
Precognitive Dimension Earlier we noted the prevalent expectation of precognition in the dreams of antiquity. This dimension also pervades the dreams of the Metamorphoses. Charite's first dream involves symbolic precognition in that it anticipates Tlepolemus' death, but it does not show the event as it will actually occur. The dream indicates that Tlepolemus will die at the hands of a robber which, although not factually accurate, might in fact be symbolically accurate, as suggested at the start of this chapter. Another symbolic precognitive dream appears in Book 11, where a priest announces to Lucius in a dream that his servant Candidus will arrive from Thessaly. Again, the dream is precognitive, but it does not present the future event as it actually happens. Lucius has two further precognitive dreams which do foresee the future exactly as it unfolds. The first is the pivotal dream where Isis appears and explains how he will encounter the priest with the roses that will bring about his metamorphosis into human form. The second involves the priest who informs Lucius what he must do regarding his initiation into the mysteries of Osiris. Here the priest calls attention to an injury which will allow Lucius to recognize him when
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they meet in the external world. The next day Lucius carefully observes the priests and is able to locate the one who appeared in his dream. In both of these direct (non-symbolic) precognitive dreams, there is an additional feature—simultaneous visionary experience. The priests Lucius sees in his precognitive dreams both receive messages about their future meetings with him. No doubt this type of double dream or shared dream makes the already extraordinary character of direct precognition in dreams seem even more remarkable. In the context of Apuleius' novel, this coincidence of simultaneous vision and precognitive dream underscores the divine origin of the experience, since in both cases it is the divine which communicates the knowledge to the priests involved in Lucius' dream experience.
Telepathic Dimension The telepathic dimension is often associated with the precognitive dimension. Both are forms of psychic dreams, and sometimes it is hard to distinguish them. One helpful way of making this distinction is to focus on the concepts of space and time. In the telepathic dimension the dreamer is extended in space: s/he dreams of something not present in the space immediately surrounding her/himself, something in the mind of another person at some distance. In the precognitive dimension the dreamer is extended in time: s/he dreams of something not present in time, something in the future. In regard to the baker's daughter's dream, consider these possibilities: Did she register at some level the dreamed-about event as it happened, without receiving this information directly ? Or did she dream of what was in the mind of either the wife or the psychic who arranged for the baker's death? The simultaneous dreams of Lucius and the priests might raise a similar question as to whether any of them were somehow picking up information from the mind of the other, or whether Isis was independently present in each of their dreams.
Spirit-World Dimension Two stories in the Metamorphoses clearly illustrate the spirit-world dimension. In Charite's second dream the spirit of Tlepolemus returns to reveal otherwise unknown information about his death and the evil plans of Thrasyllus. Similarly, the dream of the baker's daughter involves the spirit of a murdered person who communicates to an immediate family member the actual events surrounding his murder. In both cases details given in the dream are not available to other characters by any ordinary means. This gives a privileged position to the spirits of the dead; they know what no one else knows and are able to communicate this hidden knowledge in the dream state.
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Divine Dimension The divine dimension of dreams will receive full treatment in Chapter 7. Here we need only observe that divine dreams play a crucial role in Book 11 of the Metamorphoses. At the beginning of that book, Lucius' visions of Isis provide the context for his dramatic conversion experience. Isis comforts Lucius and instructs him on his imminent transformation into human form. From this initial dream forward, Lucius indicates that he is in constant contact with the divine through dreams, as the goddess prepares him for subsequent stages on his spiritual journey and counsels him on the timing and details of his initiations into the mysteries. What is perhaps most striking about the divine dimension of dreams in the novel is its prominence as an unbroken mode of communication between the human and otherworldly realms. In fact, the growth and transformation in Lucius' spiritual awareness that unfolds through the novel is propelled and mediated by the network of dreams.
Archetypal Dimension The archetypal dimension will come to the fore in our discussion of the Eros and Psyche myth, but here we can note that all the dreams involving the gods and the spirits of the dead may be viewed as archetypal. This interpretation recognizes the universality of such themes in dreams without necessarily implying that the spirit world or the gods have a reality apart from the human mind. This would apply to Charite's dream of Tlepolemus' spirit, the baker's daughter's dream of her father's ghost and Lucius' many dreams of Isis. To sum up, we have now observed the amazingly wide range of dream phenomena in the Metamorphoses and the abundant attention that the novel devotes to the dreamworld. Apuleius has introduced, in one form or another, all the dimensions of dream reference. Now we must examine the Eros and Psyche myth to see how it contributes to the religious dreamworld of Apuleius' novel.
Notes 1 GAA, p. 35: "Nihil impossibile arbitror, sed utcumque fata decreverint, ita cuncta mortalibus provenire: nam et mihi et tibi et cunctis hominibus multa usu venire mira et paene infecta, quae tarnen ignaro relata fidem perdant" (GAA, p. 34). 2 J. Winkler, Auetor and. Actor: A Narcological Reading of Apuleius' Golden Ass, p. 84. 3 GAA, p. 31: "Ne inquam Immerito medici fidi cibo et crapula distentos saeva ex gravia somniare autumant: mihi denique quod poculis vesperi minus temperavi, nox acerba diras et truces imagines obtulit" (GAA, p. 30). 4 GAA, p. 33: "Verum tarnen et ipse per somnium iugulari visus sum mihi. Nam et iugulum istum dolui et cor ipsum mihi avelli putavi et nunc etiam spiritu deficior
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6 7
8 9 10 11
12
13
14
15
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The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius'Metamorpho\<ν et genua quatior et gradu titubo et aliquid cibatus refovendo spiritu desidero" 0GAA, p. 32). GAA, p. 35: "Sed ego huic et credo Hercule et gratas gratias me mini, quod lepidae fabulae festivitate nos avocavit; asperam denique ac prolixam viam sine labore ac taedio evasi" (GAA, p. 34). M. von Franz, A Psychological Interpretation of The Golden Ass of Apuleius, pp. 18-19. These hypotheses are not mutually exclusive, as we shall observe. See my Dreams in the Psychology of Religion, pp. 135-39, regarding the dimensions of dreams. Von Franz, A Psychological Interpretation of The Golden Ass of Apuleius, p. 23. R. Brown, "The Tales in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius—A Study in Religious Consciousness" (Ph.D. diss., Florida State University, 1977), pp. 128-29. Winkler, Auctor and Actor, p. 86. Kenneth and Vincent Atchity find that this uncertainty is characteristic of literary dreams in general: "Literature's use of dream material reminds us that the most incontestable human reality is that of perception and imagination. The history of literary dreams reveals a consistently adamant uncertainty as to precisely where the boundary lies between life—the objective reality—and life—the subjective dream" ("Dreams, Literature, and the Arts," in Dreamtime and Dreamwork, edited by S. Krippner, p. 101). GA, p. 104: "Nam visa sum mihi de domo, de thalamo, de cubiculo, de toro denique ipso violenter extracta per solitudines avias infortunatissimi mariti nomen invocare, eumque, ut primum meis amplexibus viduatus est, adhuc unguentis madidum, coronis floridum consequi vestigio me pedibus fugientern alienis: utque clamore percito formosae raptum uxoris conquerens populi te Statur auxilium, quidam de latronibus importunae persecutionis indignatione permotus saxo grandi pro pedibus arrepto misellum iuvenem mari tum meum percussum interemit: talis aspectus atrocitate perterrita somno funesto pavens excussa sum" (GAA, p. 184). GAA, p. 185: "Bono animo esto, mi herilis, nec vanis somniorum figmentis terreare: nam praeter quod diurnae quietis imagines falsae perhibentur, tunc etiam nocturnae visiones contrarios eventus nonnunquam pronuntiant. Denique flere et vapulare et nonnunquam iugulari lucrosum prosperumque proventum nuntiant, contra ridere et mellitis dulciolis ventrem saginare vel in voluptatem Veneriam convenire tristitiae animi, languori corporis damnisque ceteris anxiatum iri praedicant" (GAA, p. 184). R. Geer finds little trace in Artemidorus of this theory. He admits that the stated fulfillment of many dreams seems contrary to the dream, but that Artemidorus usually gives a logical reason for this ("On the Theories of Dream Interpretation in Artemidorus," Classical Journal 22 [1927]: 670). In contrast, Arthur Osley sees the "principle of opposites" at work in Artemidorus' interpretations even if he does not explicitly invoke that principle (see "Notes on Artemidorus' Oneirocritica/' Classical Journal 59 \ 1963]: 65-70). Pliny: "Refert tarnen, eventura soleas an contraria somniare. Mihi reputanti somnium meum istud, quod times tu, egregiam actionem portendere videtur." The English translation is by W. Melmoth (Pliny, Letters, vol. 1, pp. 60-61). S. Freud, Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis, in SE, vol. 15, p. 178. Also see S. Freud, The Interpretation of Dreams, in SE, vol. 5, p. 471.
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17 B. Hijmans et al. question the truth of this information about Charité, Tlepolemus and Thrasyllus. They also ask whether Apuleius intends the reader to remember in regard to Charite's second dream the old woman's critical remarks about dream contraries and the unreliability of dreams (B. Hijmans et al., Apuleius Metamorphoses VI, 25-32 and VII). No doubt both Charité and the narrator believe the dream message. 18 Jule Eisenbud examines the many facets of this complex dream phenomenon in Paranormal Foreknowledge. Jan Ehrenwald also explores cases of dream precognition which "constitute a break in the closed, virtually self-sealing system of our standard 'Euclidean' mode of experience," and he states that such an experience "may throw [the dreamer] into an ecstatic rapture; it may strike him as a theophany or as a stirring mystical experience. It may imbue him with a sense of fusion with the rest of the universe, of a messianic mission that sets him off on the path of a prophet or religious reformer. It may open up to him vistas of a new psychic reality, illumination, and freedom of action" (The ESP Experience: A Psychiatric Validation, pp. 85-90). Also see Robert Van de Castle's discussion of documented paranormal dreams: "Sleep and Dreams," in Handbook of Parapsychology, edited by B. Wolman, pp. 473-83, and in Our Dreaming Mindr pp. 405-409, as well as Κ. Β ulke ley, Spiritual Dreaming: A Cross-Cultural and Historical Journey, pp. 107-19. 19 Laboratory studies on dream telepathy at the Maimonides Medical Center in New York provide evidence which helps confirm this problematic dimension (see M. Ullman, S. Krippner and A. Vaughan, Dream Telepathy). Irvin Child notes that a number of psychologists have ignored or misrepresented the studies. See his "Psychology and Anomalous Observations: The Question of ESP in Dreams," American Psychologist 40, 11 (November 1985): 1219-30. Also see Van de Castle, Our Dreaming Mind. pp. 416-38. 20 Because of the prevalence of the spirits of the dead in dreams, anthropologist Edward Tylor hypothesized that the belief in the continued existence of the spirits of the dead originally arose, at least in part, from the influence of dream experiences (see Religion in Primitive Culture, pp. 110-11). 21 B. Hijmans et al., Apuleius Metamorphoses VIII, pp. 4-5. 22 This does not disqualify the interpretation of this dream under the subjective dimension.
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Chapter 5
The Eros and Psyche Myth: Psychological Interpretations
In sleep and in dreams we pass through the whole thought of earlier humanity. .. , What I mean is this: as man now reasons in dreams, so humanity also reasoned for many thousands of years when awake. — Carl Jung
S
cholars have long debated the relationship of the Eros and Psyche myth1 to the Metamorphoses. Some have treated the myth as if it had virtually no relation to the frame narrative, wrenching the tale completely out of its literary context and forcing it to stand alone as an independent story. The most flagrant examples of this kind of treatment are found in the oldest allegorical interpretations and a majority of the recent psychological interpretations as well. We must survey a cross-section of these allegorical and psychological approaches in order to set the stage for proposing a new interpretation that regards this myth as an archetypal dream which sheds further light on the religious dreamworld of the Metamorphoses?
Allegorical and Psychological Interpretations The earliest recorded allegorical interpretation of the Eros and Psyche myth was that of the fifth-century CE writer Fulgentius. His Christian interpretation intended to show that the story reflects the soul's reconciliation with God. Fulgentius saw Psyche as the soul and Eros as desire in both its good and evil potential. Psyche's father and mother represent God and matter, Psyche's jealous older sisters stand for flesh and free will, and Aphrodite symbolizes lust which sends desire (Eros) to ruin the soul. Psyche's sorrowful search for Eros after he abandons her and the perilous tasks Aphrodite sets for Psyche represent the misery and disaster which come from giving in to desire.
Notes to Chapter 5 are on pp. 105-106.
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Fulgentius merely establishes the main allegorical elements in his interpretation and does not explain how the story symbolizes the soul's struggle to regain union with God after it has jeopardized that relationship through sin. The way Fulgentius set up his allegory makes it appear to symbolize the soul's reconciliation with desire rather than with God, but clearly that was not his intention. The second major allegorical interpretation of the myth was presented many centuries later by G. Hildebrand, a nineteenth-century editor of Apuleius' works. He offered a Platonic perspective on the story so that Psyche symbolizes the pure soul as it came down from heaven and Eros represents heavenly love. He views Aphrodite as Fate who sends base desires and envy (as Psyche's older sisters) to remove Psyche from her initially high place. When Psyche burns Eros with oil, this symbolizes that base impulses injure love and force it from the soul. Psyche's wanderings and difficult tasks show how the soul struggles to regain its union with heavenly love. These two allegorical interpretations appear to substitute a moral story for the original drama of the myth. They make no reference to the literary context of the story in the Metamorphoses and employ a religious or philosophical framework to interpret its main symbolic actors and events. This approach strongly resembles the way most psychological interpretations of the myth apply clinical observation and psychological theory to show how certain vital aspects of human experience are symbolized in it. In general, psychological interpretations of mythology attempt to elucidate the psychological or spiritual life of an entire culture or even humanity itself, just as psychoanalysts use dreams to illuminate the inner world of individuals. Depth psychologists assume that the symbolic stories of myth reveal profound unconscious dimensions of human experience. Some of the most influential psychoanalysts have emphasized the close link between myth and dream interpretation. For example, Freud speaks of myths as the dreams of a youthful humanity3 and discusses how mythical themes are found in the dreams of people today. Rank refers to myth as "a dream of the masses of the people," 4 and Jung understands myths as being similar to dreams or certain aspects of dreams, in that they are projections from the deepest layers of the psyche.5 These psychoanalysts have focused primarily on the psychological function of myths, especially their ability to teach us about life and its transitions. Joseph Campbell epitomizes this application of myth when he says that there is a myth for every life problem.6 Most Freudian interpreters see the Eros and Psyche myth as reflecting the dynamics of the sexual instinct. These interpreters are so strongly influenced by Freud's use of the term "Eros" for the "love instinct" 7 that their
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understanding of the Eros symbol propels their overall interpretation of the story. Their approach resembles the process of dream interpretation where associations to a central symbol can give content to the overall meaning of the dream. We shall now examine this method of interpretation applied to the Eros and Psyche myth, first by looking at the work of several Freudian commentators and then by considering that of several Jungian commentators.8
Freudian Interpretations Franz Riklin Franz Riklin was the first psychoanalyst to mine the psychological depths of this myth. His Wunscherfüllung und Symbolik im Märchen appeared in 1908, a time in his career when a Freudian perspective informed his psychological views.9 Riklin's interpretation combines his observations of psychotic patients with Freud's theory about the prominence of wishful thinking in the unconscious. Treating the Eros and Psyche myth almost as a case history of a psychotic, Riklin avoids its literary context in the Metamorphoses, and focuses only on those aspects which seem to parallel hallucinatory phenomena frequently observed in psychotics. Thus he ignores figures such as Psyche's child, Voluptas, since they do not relate to his observation about similarities between his patients and certain elements of the story. The following sample gives a sense of Riklin's interpretive method. The marriage of death sequence, in which a gentle wind rescues Psyche from immanent death and carries her to the magical castle where all of her wishes become reality, reminds Riklin of psychotic wish fantasies which seek escape from problematic situations through fantasy and dream. He believes the disembodied voices of the servants in Psyche's magical castle symbolize auditory hallucinations of a psychotic.10 That Psyche does not see her lover Eros in the dark bedroom represents a tactile hallucination in which a lover is felt but not seen, similar to what one of Riklin's psychotic patients described as a "connubial embrace."11 Riklin regards the scene where the tower from which Psyche wants to jump to her death talks her out of suicide as symbolic of "teleological hallucinations" which occasionally tell psychotics what to do. Psyche's tasks are hallucinations to escape life's difficulties since in each case she is magically rescued, and Aphrodite is a typical image of the persecutor who often torments psychotics. Riklin interprets the scene where Psyche shines a light on Eros in bed as a symbol of discovering sexual secrets.
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J. Schroetter J. Schroeder views the Eros and Psyche story as a variation on the mythical theme of marriage to a monster, which he believes portrays a girl's or young woman's anxiety about the male's sex drive. According to Schroeder, although a young female first unconsciously pictures the unknown aspects of sex as something monstrous, she gradually learns to view the would-be monster in a different light once she overcomes her initial anxiety.12 In the myth Eros represents the monster who symbolizes the young woman's fear of the penis, Schroeder maintains. He also sees the myth as a girl's or young woman's erotic dream which turns into a nightmare.13 What he has in mind here is the sequence where Eros is a phantom lover in Psyche's magical castle. In accordance with Freud's theory that dreams represent repressed wishes, Eros' appearance in the night as a mysterious lover could well be viewed as a young woman's unconscious (dream) wish for a lover. This dream turns into a nightmare, however, when Psyche breaks the taboo against seeing Eros with the resultant disappearance of her lover. Schroeder, like Riklin, makes no reference to the literary context of this story in the Metamorphoses.
Jacques Barchilon Jacques Barchilon's essay, "Beauty and the Beast: From Myth to Fairy Tale" (1959), is a Freudian interpretation which considers this myth to be a variation of the Beauty and the Beast tale.14 Barchilon focuses on those sequences of the story where Psyche's fears about her husband are central. Sequences which stress the motif of an adolescent girl's sexual anxiety are (1) the marriage-to-a-monster theme in Psyche's being placed on the mountain in expectation of a dragon husband and (2) the sister's portrayal of Eros as a devouring serpent. For Barchilon the sisters themselves symbolize a young woman's sexual anxieties. Barchilon interprets the episode where the sisters elaborate on their fantasies of the monstrous aspect of Psyche's husband as a representation of a traditional attitude which views sex as beastlike in order to reinforce the taboo against infantile sexuality.15 The child unconsciously believes that sex is terrifying, a belief which embues the idea of falling in love with dangerous connotations. In Barchilon's view, the young woman projects the beastlike, fearful aspect of sexuality onto both her father and her future husband. Barchilon believes that an adolescent girl struggles to overcome her negative childhood attitude toward sex in order to accept mature sexuality as a normal part of life. He argues that his view is supported by the fact that this myth appears in Apuleius' novel as a story told to comfort a young bride who was
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kidnapped. This is the closest Barchilon comes to recognizing the myth's literary context. Barchilon sees both Eros and Psyche as children who are wrestling with their conscious and unconscious attitudes toward their parents. Eros' betrayal of his mother symbolizes how a boy's original attachment to his mother must be severed so that he can love another woman. This perspective helps to explain Aphrodite's endeavour to hold on to her boy, Eros, and her growing antagonism toward Psyche, as the girl who entices her boy away from her. Barchilon understands the lover-in-the-dark state as Eros' attempt to hide Psyche from his jealous mother, and he sees Psyche's labours as Aphrodite's way of punishing both her son and Psyche when she discovers their love affair. While Barchilon presents a plausible version of the Oedipal dynamics represented in this myth, he attends only minimally to its literary context.
Bruno Bettelheim In The Uses of Enchantment Freudian analyst Bruno Bettelheim views the Eros and Psyche myth mainly as a story about the development of mature consciousness and the pains involved in combining wisdom and sexuality. Psyche represents the highest psychic qualities while Eros personifies sexuality; Psyche's painful wandering and gargantuan tasks show the tremendous challenge facing the person who would wed wisdom to sexuality. Psyche's sisters represent sexual anxiety as they seek to depict Eros as a devouring monster. Aphrodite signifies a regressive form of sexuality as she is envious of Psyche and incestuously tied to her son, Eros. Bettelheim contends that Psyche's repeated decisions to end her life in the face of her seemingly impossible tasks represent the depression that often occurs on the path of psychological development. He holds that nothing short of spiritual rebirth is necessary in order to integrate sexuality with the highest aspirations of consciousness, and that Psyche's journey to the underworld pictures such a rebirth experience. Bettelheim, like Schroeder and Barchilon, construes the fear about Psyche's marriage to some unknown monster as an expression of an inexperienced female's sexual anxieties.16 The funeral procession leading to Psyche's marriage site suggests that the story deals with the death of maidenhood, and Psyche's readiness to kill Eros symbolizes the strong negative feelings a young woman may have towards the person who takes her virginity. Bettelheim believes that the story's timeless value lies in its ability to assure children that their fear of sex as something beastly is not unique to them and that sexual worries frequently turn out to be groundless. Further, he understands Psyche's discovery that her lover is not a monster but rather a god as a sub-
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conscious reassurance to people that sex is not barbarous but potentially beautiful.17 The change that occurs in Psyche from mistrusting Eros to recognizing his divinity signifies that once a person's initial sexual anxiety is confronted and accepted, it is transformed into something that benefits and enlarges consciousness. On the whole, Bettelheim maintains that the message of this myth reaches people at a deep level, possibly at the level where sexual anxieties arise, because it supports the ego's attempt to face and assimilate sexuality. From this perspective the marriage of Eros and Psyche symbolizes the successful integration of sexuality with the ego.18 Bettelheim, like the other psychological interpreters already considered, ignores the literary context of the myth in the Metamorphoses.
Fritz Hoevels The most recent major Freudian interpretation of the Eros and Psyche myth is that of Fritz Hoevels, who not only takes a different tack from the other Freudian interpreters but also seeks to relate the myth to its narrative context in the Metamorphoses. For Hoevels, the primary psychological elements symbolized in the Eros and Psyche story are sibling rivalry, transference, sexual curiosity and the problem of mother fixation. Hoevels also offers a very unusual interpretation of the antagonisms between Psyche and her sisters and between Psyche and Aphrodite. For him, Psyche is the guilty party, in that the story represents a projection of her own jealousy and aggression. Psyche's jealous sisters who plot against her are a reflection of Psyche's own evil wishes towards them. When the sisters are killed and thus removed from the picture, Hoevels sees this as Psyche's fantasized wishfulfillment.19 Another instance of projection involves Psyche's relationship to Aphrodite. Hoevels interprets Aphrodite's persecution of Psyche as Psyche's own death wishes unconsciously projected onto Aphrodite in a kind of Oedipal fantasy which seeks to remove a rival mother figure.20 In accord with these projection theories, Hoevels regards Psyche's sorrowful search for her lost lover and her monumental tasks as punishment for her death wishes against her sisters and Aphrodite. Psyche's labours are thus attempts to appease her own unconscious guilt feelings about her ethically reprehensible fantasies. Hoevels sees yet another instance of projection which further turns the story around: Eros' ravishment of Psyche in the dark is actually Psyche's projection fantasy of her own unconscious incest wishes. Instead of recognizing her sexual desire for Eros, she imagines that he is ravishing her. Hoevels relates this fantasy to the child's expectation that, should her repressed incest wishes ever be realized, her father's sexual advances would bring death.
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In this Oedipal context Hoevels finds an important connection between the Eros and Psyche myth and the Metamorphoses. He holds that the taboo against seeing Eros refers to the prohibition against a girl seeing her father naked, and especially against seeing his penis. Hoevels interprets the lamp scene with its focus on this taboo as a crucial point in the tale. According to Hoevels, this prohibition is designed to offset sexual curiosity which he sees as central to both the myth and Apuleius' novel. Indeed, he believes that Apuleius included the story in the Metamorphoses precisely because it captures and symbolizes extremely well the theme of forbidden curiosity.21 For Hoevels, the scene where Lucius first becomes involved with magic by watching a naked witch transform herself into a bird indicates the strong tie between Lucius' curiosity about magic and Psyche's curiosity in wanting to see Eros. A strong taboo forbids both of these forms of curiosity, both of which represent a type of infantile curiosity. Hoevels also sees repressed infantile curiosity behind Lucius' fascination with the mystery cults and his obsessive need to be initiated into religious mysteries on three different occasions.22 According to Hoevels, religion, sex and magic blend together in the unconscious and this creates a thread of continuity in Lucius' preoccupations, all of which is aptly symbolized by Psyche's almost disastrous curiosity. While Hoevels' interpretations present a fresh perspective on the Eros and Psyche story, they offer only limited insight into the relation between Psyche and Lucius. Hoevels is unique among Freudian interpreters in making a serious effort to relate the story to its context in the novel, but he limits this connection mainly to the sexual curiosity of both Psyche and Lucius.
Range of Freudian Interpretations In these psychoanalytic interpretations Psyche may represent a woman, an adolescent girl, a psychotic's mind, a dream or fantasy ego or the highest psychic qualities of the human mind. All these interpretations view the story from the perspective of Psyche's fantasy or dream. She is presented as the main character with whom the reader identifies. Barchilon interprets her as an adolescent girl, and most of the others consider the story to be a young female's fantasy. Only Riklin does not insist that the myth's point of view is that of a young woman. His interpretation of the myth as psychotic wishfulfillment overrides any particular sex or gender considerations in the story. As mentioned earlier, the Freudian interpretations of Eros in this story are likely influenced by Freud's use of the term "Eros" to represent the "love instinct" as well as (later) the "life instincts" (which include the preservation of the self and the species, as well as ego and object love).23 Freud clearly
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influences Bettelheim's study, where Eros represents sexuality in its broadest sense. From this viewpoint, the goal of psychological development is symbolized by the marriage of Psyche and Eros as representing the union of the most highly developed aspects of the psyche with the sexual dimensions of the person. Schroeder and Barchilon also appear to be under the same influence when they interpret the myth as depicting a young female's sexual anxieties, though they are more concrete than Bettelheim in interpreting the Eros symbol as a representation of the physical and potentially dangerous aspects of sex. Both writers focus on the marriage of death sequence and Psyche's jealous sisters as the basis of their interpretation of Eros. Seen in this light, Eros symbolizes the penis and a young woman's fear that sex is beastly. Of all the Freudian interpreters, Hoevels has developed the sexual perspective on Eros to the greatest degree. For him Eros epitomizes the Oedipal fantasy which includes a girl's wonder at and fear of her father and the mystery of sex symbolized by his body. Repressed infantile sexual curiosity which the young female cannot admit even to herself lends power to this fantasy. Even Riklin considers Eros in sexual terms as a psychotic's erotic tactile hallucination. Freud's general psychological theory has obviously helped shape Freudian interpretations of the Eros figure along sexual lines. Similar to the way personal associations guide dream interpretation, the Freudian associations to the Eros symbol provide context and specific content to this figure's meaning, and consequently to the entire story's psychological meaning. Such associations seem more influential on these interpretations of the Eros and Psyche myth than the classical understanding of Eros (or Cupid) as a mischievous and spoiled child. The latter, however, is central to Apuleius' own characterization of Eros in the Metamorphoses. While the interpreters discussed above deal in one way or another with both Psyche and Eros, they do not do so with the tale's other figures and events. They give scant attention to some elements and ignore others altogether. The most conspicuous example is the almost complete absence of commentary on Voluptas, the child born to Psyche. The role of Aphrodite also seems to be overlooked by Schroeder and Barchilon. Moreover, Psyche's tasks are not dealt with at any length because they are, at most, viewed as a "working out" of guilt due to death wishes or as overcoming sexual anxieties. Once the interpreters establish the meaning of the characters Eros and Psyche, the other elements of the myth fall into place. The most important figure in the myth, after Psyche and Eros, seems to be Aphrodite. Freudian interpreters vary greatly in their estimate of her importance. Riklin understands her as a symbol of a psychotic's paranoia; she is like the witch or step-
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mother figure who is so often the persecutor in fairy tales. Schroeder and Barchilon give her no place at all. Their understanding of the dynamics of sexual anxiety concentrates on the young female's fantasy of the male as monster, not on her fear of an older woman as a threatening mother or mother-in-law figure. Consequently they see for Aphrodite no function in this mythical expression of female sexual anxiety. In Bettelheim's framework, Aphrodite represents a kind of incestuous love opposed to the development of consciousness. While Bettelheim does not devote much attention to her role, he does regard her as a rival who symbolizes a regressive form of sexuality. Her primitive sexuality contrasts sharply with the mature sexuality which is integrated into a fully developed personality. For Bettelheim, integrated sexuality is symbolized in Eros' marriage to Psyche. For Hoevels, Aphrodite is the rival mother in the context of a feminine Oedipus complex. When the Eros and Psyche myth portrays her as setting impossible and deadly tasks for Psyche, Hoevels sees this as a woman's fantasy in which she projects her own death wishes onto her rival. According to him, this myth shows how these Oedipal fantasies and projections appear absolutely real, allowing blame to be unconsciously and effectively shifted to the other person. Thus Aphrodite, portrayed as cruel and heartless in the myth, is, in this interpretation, actually innocent. She becomes merely the victim of a young woman's Oedipus complex and its surrounding fantasies. Psyche's sisters play a large role early in the myth, and only Schroeder fails to deal with their psychological significance. For all of the Freudian interpreters discussed above, the sisters express either anxieties or sibling rivalry. For Bettelheim they merely give voice to a young woman's concern about the place of sexuality in her life and how it relates to her cherished values, and thus they symbolize a potential for conflict within the young female's psyche. Barchilon goes further, regarding the sisters as irrational fears in a young woman's psyche which confuse her, upset her equilibrium and may even lead her to unreasonable actions. Schroeder's understanding of the story as an erotic dream excludes any consideration of the sisters, and Riklin considers them only insofar as they offer a dramatic contrast to a psychotic's wishfulfillment. Riklin believes that the way the sisters are destroyed in the myth symbolizes the possible threat to a psychotic of not having wishes realized. Therefore, they may represent underlying anxieties which menace the psychotic. Again, Hoevels offers the most unusual interpretation. For him the sisters represent the objects of sibling rivalry, and only in Psyche's fantasy do they appear evil, guilty and deserving of their terrible fate. According to
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Hoevels, this myth illustrates how a young woman manages to create an incredible fantasy to get rid of her rivals and then to heap blame on them. All these interpreters virtually overlook the role of Voluptas in the myth. This is surprising since Voluptas, as delight or pleasure, could conceivably fit well with a generally sexual interpretation of the story in terms of a young female's fantasies, dreams or anxieties. Yet, for these commentators sexual fulfillment is not the main object of these fantasies, since they read the myth as an expression of repressed sexual impulses, projections and reaction formations. This is evident especially in the interpretations of Schroeder and Barchilon, where Eros symbolizes monstrous sexual fantasies, or in Hoevels' interpretation of Eros as a projection of repressed infantile curiosity. Given this interpretation, Psyche's relationship to Eros could hardly be symbolized by joy or delight. Although Riklin holds that the myth represents a psychotic's hallucinatory wishfulfillment, he does not see this symbolically expressed in Voluptas as the possible pleasure or joy in such an hallucination. Even Bettelheim fails to comment on the symbolism of Voluptas as the result of Psyche's union with Eros. Another aspect of the myth which lacks detailed analysis in these commentaries is the symbolism involved in Psyche's tasks. Barchilon completely ignores them and Riklin dismisses them as life's difficulties. In Riklin 's view, the dramatic and magical rescue of Psyche in each task betrays their character as "escape hallucinations." The psychotic's power of wishing, Riklin argues, allows life's difficulties to be solved in an hallucinatory fashion which avoids having to deal with them in reality. Bettelheim sees Psyche's tasks as symbolizing a woman's struggle to reach for greater consciousness without cutting herself off from deep sexual needs; the incredibly difficult tasks illustrate how much effort is required to overcome sexual anxieties and to recognize the role integrated sexuality plays in achieving true wisdom. Hoevels regards Psyche's tasks as the inevitable price a woman must pay for lack of psychological insight into her Oedipal fantasies. Psyche is thus responsible for generating the entire story even though she is not aware of doing so. He maintains that she has unconsciously arranged to steal Eros from his mother/wife and has projected her own death wishes onto her sisters and Aphrodite, which causes her enormous underlying guilt. In Hoevels' view, Psyche manages to have this Oedipal fantasy and deal with her guilt at the same time only by incorporating into the fantasy almost overwhelming tasks which allow her to work out her guilt as a kind of punishment.
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Jungian Interpretations Erich Neumann Erich Neumann's Amor and Psyche, the first major treatment of the Eros and Psyche myth from a Jungian perspective, has greatly influenced all subsequent Jungian interpretations. Neumann sees the story as a mythical representation of the way women develop psychologically.24 Psyche primarily symbolizes the conscious mind of the female, whose development represents a differentiation of consciousness out of an original unconscious unity. Aphrodite as a symbol of the great mother stands for the original unconscious state of the human being. Eros is, in some respects, an extension of the great mother archetype, since he is the great mother's son and is closely bound to her throughout the story, yet he also represents the possibility of love as personal relationship, especially later in the story. When Eros commands that Psyche remain with him in the embrace of darkness and not know his identity, Neumann interprets this as an indication of Psyche's originally unconscious state of unity with the great mother archetype. When Psyche disobeys Eros' taboo, this symbolizes how guilt and loneliness enter the world of female consciousness as she seeks love as conscious relationship rather than as strictly fertility. Psyche's jealous sisters represent aspects of Psyche's shadow25 which manifest signs of a higher, more critical, form of feminine consciousness since they push Psyche beyond her state of blind submission to Eros.26 Psyche's seeing Eros in the light dissolves their original unconscious tie and represents a crucial shift from love as fascinating attraction (including the fertility of the species) to a genuine love principle of personal development and encounter. Neumann interprets the daughter born to Psyche at the end of the myth as a symbol of the divine child that is related to the self-archetype in Jung's theory. This daughter, called Voluptas (Pleasure or Joy), symbolizes the outcome of the individuation process, says Neumann, who thereby places his interpretation in the context of Jung's own search for symbol systems which are historical antecedents to analytical psychology. Neumann also maintains that Voluptas signifies the divine joy of mystical union. In general, Jungian interpreters pay a great deal of attention to Psyche's tasks. Neumann is no exception. Where Psyche must sort out a mixture of grains, he sees this as the need to deal with the promiscuity associated with Aphrodite's fertility principle; the ants which help her represent the chthonian powers associated with the vegetative nervous system. When Psyche has to gather wool from the dangerous sheep, the rams are the destructive power of the masculine, and the reed which aids her is the feminine vegetative wisdom of growth.27 Psyche's third task of catching some water from the deadly river
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is a portrayal of Psyche as the vessel of individuation—one who gives specific form to the constantly moving energy of life without being shattered by its overwhelming power. Neumann maintains that Psyche's first three tasks contribute to her growth in consciousness by confronting aspects of the negative masculine principle manifested as "masculine promiscuity" (seeds), "the deadly masculine" (rams) and the "uncontainable masculine" (stream of life). For him this represents the necessary danger involved in a female's attempts to incorporate masculine dimensions of the psyche. Neumann's use of the terms masculine and feminine in his analysis of the symbolism of these tasks, as well as elsewhere in his study, is problematical in that it is difficult to see how psychological qualities are tied to one gender. In certain passages he speaks of "the masculine attribute of a stout heart,"28 "the masculine world of consciousness" 29 and "deplorable feminine curiosity."30 Such stereotyping demands caution in approaching the genderrelated aspects of his interpretation. Neumann interprets Psyche's final task, the journey to the underworld to fetch some of Persephone's beauty ointment, as a direct battle with death. Psyche's saving grace is in placing her desire for beauty in the service of devotion to her beloved; this symbolizes once more the value of her individual love encounter with Eros over love as an anonymous function of the fertility principle. Only to a minor degree does Neumann relate his interpretation of the myth to its literary context: as Eros is the son of the goddess Aphrodite, so Lucius becomes the son of the goddess Isis in the initiation ceremony in Book ll. 3 1 Neumann sees Lucius' initiation prefigured by Eros' development in the course of the Eros and Psyche tale. However, Neumann's interpretation of Eros' story as a god becoming human appears to be the opposite of Lucius' case, in which a human becomes like a god. Neumann does state that Lucius' initiation is at least complementary to Psyche's transformation, since Psyche illustrates the union of the feminine with the divine while Lucius' story is about a man eventually drawn into union with the divine. According to Neumann, Lucius' initiation into the Isis cult brings about his identification with the son of the mother goddess: he is transformed into Horus-Osiris, the son of Isis. This transformation parallels Lucius' metamorphosis into an ass at the beginning of the novel. Both transformations are initiated by a female. The goddess of fate helped bring about his change into an ass, while the goddess Isis led him to salvation. Neumann fails to discuss the psychological meaning of Lucius' initiation as it is symbolized in the Eros and Psyche tale,
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Marie Louise von Franz Of all the psychological commentators on the Eros and Psyche myth, Marie Louise von Franz is the most concerned about its literary context. Her work, A Psychological Interpretation of the Golden Ass of Apuleius, is based on the premise that "it is neither legitimate nor even possible to interpret in isolation these passages (from the Eros and Psyche myth) at their deepest level of meaning because the novel is a whole."32 She believes that Apuleius inserted the myth into the Metamorphoses because it illuminates his own psychology and that of his chief (and somewhat autobiographical) character, Lucius. The Eros and Psyche tale, according to von Franz, is primarily about religious initiation, the coming together of the divine and the human.33 In relation to the novel this refers to Lucius' encounter with the goddess Isis. Von Franz views the myth as an archetypal dream which comments on Lucius1 religious experience, but she believes that Psyche's déification on Mt. Olympus at the end of the myth indicates that the divine-human union of Isis and Lucius is unsuccessful. For her, retiring to Mt. Olympus is the symbolic equivalent to receding into the collective unconscious—the opposite of bringing the mystical union to reality. Yet she maintains that the myth, as Lucius' archetypal dream, has had some effect on him because his inner totality (symbolized by the union of Eros and Psyche) emerged from the unconscious and made some contact with his consciousness before slipping again into the unconscious.34 For von Franz, Psyche symbolizes the anima (more specifically, Lucius' anima) as it gradually develops and becomes distinct from the maternal image.35 Aphrodite represents the combined archetype of the mother-anima before they become differentiated. According to von Franz, the anima derives from and is strongly influenced by the mother archetype, and in their undeveloped state the anima and the mother archetype are effectively identical. As the anima which becomes differentiated from the mother archetype, Psyche represents a variant of Kore, the daughter of the great mother goddess. Von Franz contends that the daughter goddess is closer to the human than the mother goddess, in the same way that Christ is closer to the human than God the Father.36 Psyche thus symbolizes something not strictly divine but mediating between the divine and the human. Because of Psyche's close relationship with Aphrodite, von Franz sees Psyche's union with Eros as a variant of the hieros garnos, the heavenly marriage of royal brother and sister, which Jungians regard as symbolizing the end result of the individuation process. Von Franz believes this element of the story shows that the archetype of the divine marriage "comes down to earth" and approaches the possibility of being realized by human beings.37 This
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symbol of realizing or incarnating the highest potential of individuation is squarely at the centre of Lucius' religious initiation. Considered from the spiritual viewpoint, Psyche as the incarnation of the mother goddess represents Isis, who approaches Lucius at the end of the novel. From the psychological viewpoint, Psyche as the anima symbolizes the feminine elements which Lucius must integrate in order to achieve psychological wholeness. In this interpretation, Eros is ambiguous: he is the god of love who moves the soul towards individuation, but he also represents the puer aeternus archetype in Lucius, The puer, having characteristics of a mother's boy who does not wish to grow up, is often found in a person with a powerful mother complex such as Apuleius or Lucius.38 Von Franz sees this aspect of Eros manifested in his reaction to being burned by Psyche when he retreats to his mother. The puer element of the personality may also bring a valuable quality of youth and creativity when consciously integrated into a person's life. Von Franz argues that the novel's author was struggling with a negative mother complex in which he had too little of the puer and therefore tended to be cynical and unable to trust his feelings. Eros as the "remote bridegroom of the anima" (Psyche) represents Apuleius' own condition.39 Von Franz views Psyche's jealous sisters as symbols of the negative elements in the mother complex which contaminate the anima. She does, however, recognize some ambiguity in the sisters, maintaining that they symbolize not only cynicism and the power drive but also positive features of self-preservation and realism. Their cynicism, she says, draws attention to the unreality of Psyche's paradise which is in some sense inhuman and cold. The sisters' sceptical attitude represents Apuleius' own rational devaluation which undercuts those strong feelings of attachment which surface only occasionally, such as in the religious experience at the novel's end. Von Franz comments extensively on Psyche's tasks. She views the seeds Psyche must sort as representations of the multiple images and forms in the collective unconscious; the feeling function must be developed to transform these archetypal images from chaotic potentialities to integrated realities which benefit the individual person. The ants which help Psyche symbolize an ordering principle within the collective unconscious. The reed which tells her the secret of collecting wool from the dangerous sheep similarly represents aid coming from the same source.40 The ram is aggressive impulsiveness, often a quality of the anima. As Psyche discovers how to gather wool indirectly, so the anima must learn to sort through emotions rather than simply acting them out. The water of the Styx in the third task symbolizes, according to von Franz, the energy of the collective unconscious which cannot be manipulated
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by an individual's will; the eagle of Zeus who comes to her rescue represents the flight of spiritual intuition, which often emerges from the unconscious just when the conscious mind seems unable to act by itself.41 Psyche's holding the water of the Styx signifies that great creativity is possible when the anima maintains a person's contact with the deep unconscious. Psyche's final task represents, for von Franz, the analytical journey into the unconscious, wherein one searches for symbols to lead one from an outmoded attitude to a new perspective. Persephone's beauty ointment is a symbol of the psyche's ultimate spiritual devotion which belongs only to the gods. To support her interpretation von Franz refers to the creamy ointments in Egypt used to anoint statues of the gods as a sign of devotion. When Psyche attempts to take some of Persephone's ointment for herself, she appropriates for the human being what belongs only to the gods, and thus falls into a dangerous sleep. Von Franz sees Eros' rescue of Psyche as a symbol of the self-archetype which is often activated during situations of great danger. Even though von Franz interprets Eros as a symbol of the self-archetype here, she concludes that when he takes Psyche to Olympus, all the gains Psyche has made are ultimately lost in the unconscious. In relation to Lucius, this means he was not yet ready for a deep religious experience.42 While she considers the Eros and Psyche myth to be a potential solution to Apuleius' or Lucius' problem of a negative mother complex, von Franz holds that the solution is not realized in the human realm but remains only a kind of archetypal thought experiment. The child Voluptas symbolizes, in this interpretation, lust or sensuous love as the rebirth of an anima aspect. This is a much more negative view than Neumann's, which sees Voluptas as a symbol of mystical union. According to von Franz, the time is not yet ripe for the self-archetype to emerge into consciousness where it could affect Lucius' life. Von Franz' consistent attempt to refer the Eros and Psyche myth to its literary context is very valuable. However, her final analysis of the story in terms of Lucius' failure to individuate suggests that she does not take seriously enough his religious transformation in his encounter with Isis at the novel's end.
Ann Ulanov Ann Ulanov deals with the Eros and Psyche myth as a description of anima development in men.43 In Jungian terms the anima represents the archetype which generates images of the female in a man's psyche and changes over the course of his psychological development However, Ulanov accepts the possi-
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bility that Psyche's story may also symbolize the experience of women as well as that of a man's anima.
For Ulanov, the tale describes how the anima (Psyche) emerges out of the matriarchal collective unconscious, represented by Aphrodite. This process of differentiation is symbolized by the tension between Psyche and Aphrodite. Ulanov argues that initially a man is immersed in the unconscious, but through his anima learns to differentiate from, and relate to, the unconscious rather than be dominated or overwhelmed by it. Aphrodite's jealous rage, then, shows how the conservative side of the unconscious resists differentiation and development. Similarly, the way Aphrodite holds onto her son with long, fervent kisses reveals the regressive tendencies of the unconscious, "the strong incestuous flavour of mother love in its regressive phase." 44 Ulanov's Eros figure is more ambiguous than Psyche or Aphrodite. Ulanov points out Eros' confusion in the story—sometimes he runs errands for his mother and retreats to her, at other times he defies her and hides from her.45 Primarily, Ulanov regards Eros as an adolescent male, in love for the first time, whose relationship to the feminine changes from revolving around a mother figure to a more autonomous, individual stance. This change also reflects how a young man relates to his own anima, the feminine within. The symbolic move from mother to lover represents a freeing of the male ego from identification with the unconscious, and allows for an individual relationship to the unconscious to emerge through the anima. Ulanov sees Psyche's jealous sisters as neglected feminine elements in a woman or in the anima. Since Eros-in-the-dark represents the non-relational quality of a man's erotic passion, the sisters pressing Psyche to view Eros in the light symbolize a positive move to deepen consciousness and precipitate psychological differentiation. So even where the sisters are presented negatively, they do urge Psyche (as the anima) to become more differentiated and aware, allowing for a more individual relationship between a man's consciousness and his unconscious. Ulanov explains that the anima must be developed enough to mediate the collective unconscious to consciousness without the latter becoming overwhelmed. For her, Psyche's despair and suicidal ideation symbolize the anima's continuous danger of collapsing back into an undifferentiated unconscious state. As for Psyche's tasks, Ulanov interprets the seeds to be sorted as a male's promiscuous tendencies, and the ants which help Psyche as the instinctive ability to order the psyche's limitless potential. The task of gathering wool from the sheep illustrates the anima's ability to channel the male's aggressive tendency into energy for relationships.46 The task of filling the crystal vessel with water from the deadly river symbolizes the anima's capac-
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ity to give form to the boundless vital energy of the collective unconscious. Zeus' eagle is a symbol of male friendship, which can assist a young man in gaining independence from his mother. In Ulanov's view, the final task, entering the underworld, symbolizes how the anima helps the ego accept the reality of death. Psyche's disobedient act of opening the deadly container of beauty ointment is offset by her positive intention to become beautiful for Eros. This intention of serving Eros, the drive for involvement is, in Ulanov's interpretation, constructive and far from narcissistic self-idolization. Psyche's bold act of confronting death evokes in Eros the courage to rescue her from the deadly sleep of the beauty ointment. For Ulanov, Voluptas is both human and divine. Ulanov agrees with Neumann that Voluptas symbolizes the joy experienced in mystical union.47 Emphasizing the divinity of the child comports with Jung's idea that the selfarchetype is indistinguishable from the God-image in the human being. Voluptas thus also serves as a symbol of the self-archetype. Ulanov's acknowledgment that the overall context of the Eros and Psyche myth is masculine, and that the myth affirms the divine potential of human transformation, can potentially shed much light on Lucius' religious experience in the Metamorphoses. Regrettably, Ulanov never makes this connection explicit.
James Hillman James Hillman interprets the Eros and Psyche myth as a metaphor for the process of psychological creativity in both men and women, which he speaks of as "soul-making" or anima development. By "anima" he means the feminine aspects of the psyche, not just the personification of a male's unconscious. The story of Psyche, then, symbolizes the gradual differentiation of the anima from the mother archetype represented by Aphrodite. Hillman contrasts Aphrodite's endless fecundity and promiscuity with the soul's (Psyche's) increasing awareness of its own identity and creative potential.48 Hillman understands Eros as a broad range of psychic reality lying between the divine and the human. Eros is also a daimon, a divine function which allows humans to interact with the gods.49 Eros not only introduces Psyche to her deepest spiritual levels but also generates symbols which surmount the opposites of the collective unconscious. Departing considerably from the usual Jungian notion that eros is a "feminine" quality of relatedness, Hillman refers to eros as a "masculine" creative principle which is necessary for heightened psychological activity.50 Hillman reads the myth not only as a metaphor for creativity but also as a portrayal of the process of Jungian analysis. He characterizes neurosis as a
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withdrawal of eros from the psyche which leaves a person without hope, energy and love, paralleling what happens in the myth. Psyche's tasks thus symbolize the soul work which prepares for reunion with eros and also represent the development of the soul into an effective container for the gods' inspiration. Hillman's openness to the transpersonal dimensions of eros as a link to the realm of the gods illustrates the potential for a religious interpretation of the myth. His view of Eros as the key to participation in the imaginai world through which people encounter the gods approaches interpretations of the story which stress its role in symbolically prefiguring Lucius' experience of the goddess Isis. Hillman's affirmation that "what transpires in our psyche is not of our psyche" 51 holds open the possibility of divine contact through the psyche (especially in dreams), which might well be represented by the god Eros coming in the night to embrace Psyche. This symbolism of Eros' nightly visits brings to mind Lucius' call to initiation: Isis came to Lucius in night dreams to show him mercy and love. In Hillman's account, Voluptas represents the pleasure deriving from psychological creativity in all its forms, including the experience of poets, mystics, saints and ordinary people. This symbolism emphasizes how closely creativity may be related to pleasure. In soul-making through eros, the pleasure of giving life to the imaginai has a higher psychological priority than strengthening the ego.52 The deification of Psyche at the close of the myth, then, illustrates the primacy of the archetypal powers ruling Eros and Psyche, and affirms the significant relationship between soul-making and the divine. Hillman's interpretation is very intriguing despite its tendency to stray far from Apuleius' version. Hillman shows more clearly than Neumann and von Franz the relation of the myth to creativity and the divine realm. He captures some of the myth's initiatory significance as an archetypal recapitulation of Lucius' initiation into the mysteries of Isis.
Robert Johnson Robert Johnson views the Eros and Psyche myth as an expression of the psychology of the feminine, whether in regard to women or the feminine aspects of men. Psyche may thus represent either a woman's personality or the anima, the personification of a man's unconscious. Johnson also emphasizes the multi-faceted character of Eros as (I) the experience of love, (2) an archetypal God, and (3) a woman's animus (personification of her unconscious). For Johnson, Eros as the experience of love is increasingly the main form in which people in a secular society encounter God. In this form Eros is
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the principal intermediary between God and human beings.53 Falling in love also opens a person to the superpersonal world of archetypes which often upsets one's familiar world. This experience points to Eros as an archetypal deity which can possess or overwhelm a person just as any other archetype can. The significance of the Psyche tale, then, is that it shows the profound impact an archetype has on a person. In fact, Johnson believes Psyche's encounter with Eros represents the first time a mortal experienced an archetype directly and lived. The third form of Eros (Eros as a woman's animus) is portrayed by Psyche in the magic castle. Here is a woman in an initial state of animus-possession, represented by the Eros-in-the-dark phenomenon. Only when Psyche lights the lamp (the light of consciousness) can she begin to gain critical distance on her unconscious. Psyche's tasks symbolize how the experience of Eros transforms her, and Johnson's interpretation of them recalls Neumann's. Sorting the mixed seeds is the challenge of dealing with the unconscious; the ants symbolize the feminine instinct for managing the influx of material from the unconscious and integrating it into consciousness. The ram is power over the world which modern humanity seeks.54 Psyche's strategy of getting the leftover fleece from the boughs is a symbol of achieving the right degree of power and not losing sight of deeper values. According to Johnson filling the crystal goblet with water from the deadly river symbolizes how a woman should cope with the vastness of life and its endless possibilities, the fragile crystal being a metaphor for the human ego.55 Psyche's final labour, her journey to the land of the dead, represents the transition from one level of development to the next. The tower which provides Psyche with careful instructions for her journey represents the wise traditions of a culture which frequently guide an individual. Psyche's effort to keep some of the beauty ointment for herself is a temporary regression to her old feminine consciousness, which is preoccupied with beauty and fertility. Like Neumann, Johnson tends to label psychological characteristics as masculine and feminine, a practice which supports the unreflective gender stereotypes of sexual-social inequality. Like Neumann and many other interpreters, he also fails to relate his interpretation of the story to its literary context in the Metamorphoses.
Jean Houston Jean Houston interprets the Eros and Psyche tale as symbolic of the major development in human consciousness which occurs when the soul awakens to its divine potential. Like other Jungians such as Johnson and Ulanov, Houston
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regards the myth as a story about the development of the feminine principle in both men and women.56 Her interpretation focuses on the myth's implications for psychological growth and creativity. Psyche symbolizes consciousness and, specifically, a feminine element in consciousness. Aphrodite is an ambiguous symbol, at once signifying the great divide between the divine and human as well as being the initiator who prepares Psyche to overcome this gap. Eros is the force within the soul which yearns for growth and a link to something beyond the personal self; Eros is also the intermediary joining the human to the divine.57 Houston views the marriage of death sequence as symbolic of the creative darkness out of which great achievements emerge. Houston sees Psyche's envious sisters in a favourable light, in that they signify the doubts arising from a one-sided and unconscious state.58 That Psyche wanted her sisters to visit indicates they symbolize Psyche's realization that her life of rapture in the magic castle was lacking something important. Psyche's labours in this view are a series of initiations intended to deepen consciousness.59 (Houston has even designed exercises to provide insight into each task's psychological meaning, making her approach to the story very experientially based.) Psyche's task of sorting the mixed seeds deals with how people may develop an instinctive ordering principle to govern their lives. Capturing the fleece from the rams represents the difficult work of integrating aggressive energies, while the reed which counsels Psyche symbolizes the value of appropriate timing in the growth process. Houston agrees with Robert Johnson that filling the crystal vessel with the water of life signifies the care which must be given to integrating difficult experiences into the fragile ego. In the final task, the journey to the underworld, Houston sees Psyche's mistake of opening the jar of ointment as symbolic of the typical pattern of development, where one occasionally falls back into old patterns of consciousness.60 Yet Houston is optimistic in seeing the deadly sleep of such backsliding as merely a period of gestation which prepares for new life. Finally, she sees Voluptas as symbolizing the soul's discovery of its own wisdom as it "plunges into life" (Houston claims this is an ancient meaning of "voluptas") without knowing in advance where life experience will lead. Although providing numerous psychological insights into the myth, Houston, like so many others, fails to relate her interpretation to its literary context in the Metamorphoses.
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Range of Jungian Interpretations All of the Jungian interpretations we have discussed view the Eros and Psyche story as a symbolic representation of feminine development from an in-depth perspective. Specifics vary as the interpreters see Psyche as symbolizing a woman, women in general, consciousness or the anima (as the personification of a man's unconscious). For Neumann, Psyche represents both the phylogenetic development of female consciousness in general and the development of individual women. In both cases, he regards this psychological growth as a shift from love as an aspect of the impersonal fertility principle to love as an expression of personal encounter. Neumann believes that because the Psyche myth is active in the collective unconscious, it helps individual women reach the goal of love as personal relationship in their lives. Houston also underscores the myth's phylogenetic meaning, but characterizes this development as a stage in human history where consciousness becomes transformed through relationship to the divine. Houston, along with Hillman and Johnson, understands the story to pertain to feminine aspects of men as well as to women. Only von Franz and Ulanov manage to foreground the overall context of the Metamorphoses as they consider Psyche to symbolize a man's psyche or soul. The myth's other chief figure is Eros, and the Jungians greatly differ in interpreting him. He may represent the male ego, a daimon which unites humans and the gods, the creative principle in the mind, the puer aeternus archetype or an aspect of the self-archetype. The Jungian view here bears traces of Jung's own emphasis on the connective function of Eros. Jung referred to Eros as the "capacity to relate,"61 and seems to have given more weight to the spiritual side of Eros than to the sexual side as emphasized by Freud. Jungian interpreters diverge in how they follow Jung's emphasis on the relational aspect of Eros. Neumann interprets Eros as the tendency to relatedness in a woman's psyche, while Ulanov sees one aspect of Eros as the male's drive to involvement in the world. Ulanov, like most Jungians, underscores the spiritual side of Eros as a symbol of the God archetype and in his role as a daimon. Johnson interprets Eros as the experience of human love which gives many people their only contact with the divine but associates Eros with the God archetype or self-archetype. Houston also regards Eros as symbolizing the aspect of the soul connecting a person to the divine. Like Ulanov, Hillman views Eros as a daimon joining humans to the gods in the imaginai realm. Hillman seems to consider the gods and the archetypes mainly as personifications of forces acting in the psyche and in external reality. When he speaks of Eros as a god, it is unclear whether he restricts this to only the highest human spiritual and creative experiences or
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also connects it with a traditional notion of a transcendent God. As we have seen, for von Franz Eros symbolizes an aspect of both the self-archetype and the puer acte mus archetype.
Most Jungians interpret Aphrodite as a symbol of the older, more regressive aspects of the unconscious. Neumann sees her as a symbol of the great mother archetype which can provide comfort and security but which also resists the growth of consciousness and may retard individual women from reaching their full potential. Von Franz views her as both a symbol of the mother archetype and the anima before the latter differentiates itself from the former. Ulanov also interprets Aphrodite as a symbol of the undifferentiated collective unconscious, while Johnson understands her to symbolize the unconscious and especially the mother archetype, Hillman considers Aphrodite as a symbol of a primitive and undifferentiated unconscious state working against expansion and creativity. Houston sees Aphrodite as representing unintegrated archetypal material, adding that Aphrodite expresses an early state of development where human and divine are separated by a great divide. Houston also recognizes a positive aspect of this symbol, pointing out that Aphrodite forces on Psyche the tasks which ultimately strengthen her and prepare her for union with the divine. In regard to Psyche's sisters, Hillman is the only Jungian to omit them from his interpretation. Neumann considers them from a phylogenetic perspective as symbols of an early stage in the development of consciousness where feminine aspects of the psyche are dominated by "male" values and are not yet integrated. The sisters also represent an attitude in a woman which does not trust men. Ulanov sees Psyche's sisters as neglected and undifferentiated feminine elements in a man's psyche. For Ulanov, the sisters have a positive aspect in that they inadvertently encourage Psyche to view Eros in the light, symbolizing an increase in Psyche's consciousness. Von Franz similarly emphasizes the sisters' positive meaning as they alert Psyche to the onesidedness of her relationship to Eros. When they warn Psyche about the dangers of the dark paradise with Eros, they represent a kind of self-preservation instinct. Similarly, Houston speaks of their value in pushing Psyche out of an unconscious paradise and into conscious relationship with Eros. A number of these interpreters find Psyche's child, Voluptas, to be a key symbol of the story's outcome. The Latin word "voluptas" may symbolize the quality or meaning of their relationship as it indicates pleasure, delight or enjoyment. Hillman sees Voluptas as symbolizing the pleasure flowing from the creative process of soul-making, wherein the psyche is consciously related to its archetypal depths. Neumann's interpretation of her as a symbol of the mystical joy issuing from psychological development stresses that the
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psyche's growth is akin to the spiritual development of religious mystics. Johnson is even more emphatic, interpreting Voluptas as Psyche's ecstasy at discovering her own divinity. Houston argues that Voluptas represents how the soul discovers its own wisdom by throwing itself into experiences without knowing the consequences in advance. For Ulanov, Voluptas symbolizes the self-archetype which produces its characteristic images ever more clearly in the course of the individuation process. From this perspective the Eros and Psyche myth seems to parallel Jung's view of psychological transformation in a man: in the same way Psyche and Eros join to produce Voluptas, the analysand encounters the anima (Psyche as the personification of a man's unconscious) and this results in the emergence of the realized self-archetype. Von Franz, the only Jungian to interpret Voluptas negatively, believes that she symbolizes an aspect of the anima, namely, sensual lust. Von Franz argues that the daughter symbol represents a derivative aspect, and focuses on the sensual element of the definition of "voluptas." As sensual lust Voluptas represents Apuleius' (and Lucius') underdeveloped psychological state which is shown, according to von Franz, by Apuleius' lasciviousncss expressed through Lucius' sexual curiosity early on in the Metamorphoses and in the novel's many bawdy stories. As we have seen, most of the Jungians devote much effort to interpreting the significance of Psyche's tasks. They generally see them as a process of development which involves the broadening of consciousness and the unfolding of the unconscious. Differences in interpreting the tasks mainly depend on whether Psyche is seen to represent the conscious or the unconscious mind. Because Neumann interprets Psyche's story as a female's development of her conscious mind, her tasks represent a woman's struggle to differentiate consciousness from the almost overwhelming unconscious from which it emerges. Johnson and Houston understand the myth to symbolize the development of the feminine in both men and women, so that the meaning of Psyche's tasks applies equally to the growth of woman's conscious mind and man's unconscious mind. Houston believes the tasks depict the ordeals encountered as we search for deeper levels of consciousness and union with the divine. For Hillman, the tasks symbolize the difficulties involved in soulmaking as one is immersed in the world of unconscious images and stories; the soul is led into the depths of the underworld in this process, just as Psyche was led to Persephone's door in the land of the dead. Ulanov and von Franz regard Psyche's tasks as stages of anima development. For Ulanov, the anima must develop certain psychological characteristics in order to mediate a man's unconscious to his conscious mind, and these
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characteristics are depicted in the tasks. Von Franz contends the tasks refer not only to men in general but especially to Apuleius' own psychological state. She interprets the first task of sorting seeds as the need for Apuleius to develop his feeling function, which guides the selection of just the right archetypal materials needed for his growth. She believes that Psyche's other tasks refer to Apuleius' need to come to terms with his strong emotions and his deep unconscious. This survey shows how significantly the interpretive framework employed can determine which aspects of the Eros and Psyche story have relevance and which symbols express some of the dynamics described in a psychological theory. We can see this especially in the way Freudians have utilized the anxiety present in the marriage-of-death scene to support their focus on the Oedipal elements in the myth interpreted as a young female's fantasy. Similarly, the Jungians have stressed Psyche's tasks, her deification and the birth of Voluptas to support their focus on the role of archetypes in psychological development. Interpreters have called special attention to different elements of the myth and have given these elements pride of place in their psychological explanations. The result is that the interpretations are determined as much by psychological theory as by the drama described in the myth itself. Selective perception guided by a theory characterizes all of these interpretations. In Freudian theory, where sexuality, sibling rivalry and the power of wishes are central, interpreters concentrate on Eros (as sexuality), the sisters (as rivals and anxieties) and Psyche (as the initiator of fantasy, wishes and dreams). In Jungian theory, where the archetypes predominate as a collective heritage influencing the individual's psychological and spiritual life, interpreters focus on Psyche's tasks and her relationship to the gods. Nevertheless, all these commentators have discovered truths about the nature and dynamics of the human mind expressed in the Eros and Psyche myth. The rich variety of interpretations reveals both the multi-levelled character of mythical symbols and the extent to which interpreters project their own theories and preoccupations onto myth. This resembles dream interpretation, where the act of interpreting involves an analyst to such a degree that s/he must constantly guard against reading too much of himself or herself into a dream's meaning. This "creative contact" between an interpreter and the symbolic material cannot be completely avoided, especially since both dreams and myths invite analysts to encounter profound aspects of their own inner life. Dream analysts usually check with the dreamer, the context of the analysis and other of the person's dreams to decide if a particular interpretation is on track. But when interpreting myths we can only indirectly check an interpretation with
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the creator of a myth—that is, by determining the historical and cultural context in which the myth and its symbols arose. With the Eros and Psyche myth this interpretive context is provided by Apuleius' Metamorphoses. Yet, among the psychological interpreters we surveyed, only Hoevels and von Franz seriously attempt to refer their interpretation to that primary context which, in the end, makes their approach the soundest one. Although there is no absolute guarantee against reading oneself into an interpretation of this kind of symbolic material, trying to keep one's hermeneutical perspective closely tied to the material's primary context is one effective safeguard against this temptation. The most promising lines of interpreting this myth psychologically, then, follow the lead of recent nonpsychological studies emphasizing its relationship to its immediate context in Apuleius' novel. Now we shall turn to those studies and see how they can lead us to a deeper understanding of this myth as Lucius' archetypal dream.
Notes 1 For a brief summary of the story, see the Foreword. 2 The next chapter reviews the literary, "non-psychological" interpretations which emphasize the relationship of the Eros and Psyche myth to the Metamorphoses. 3 S. Freud, "Creative Writers and Day-Dreamingin SE, vol. 9, p. 152. 4 O, Rank, The Myth of the Birth of the Hero and Other Writings, edited by Philip Freund, p. 9. 5 C. Jung, Symbols of Transformation, in CW, vol. 5, pp. 24-26. 6 J. Campbell, The Power of Myth, p. 143. 7 S. Freud, An Outline of Psychoanalysis, in SE, vol. 13, pp. 148-49. 8 For a thorough analysis of the Eros and Psyche myth, see my Love and the SoulPsychological Interpretations of the Eros and Psyche Myth, pp. 5-13. 9 F. Riklin, translated by W. White as Wishfulfillment and Symbolism in Fairy Tales. References are to the English translation. 10 Ibid., p. 80. 11 Ibid., p. 45. 12 J. Schroeder, Het Sprookje van Amor en Psyche in het Licht der Psychoanalyse, p. 27. 13 Ibid., p. 28. 14 J. Barchilon, "Beauty and the Beast: From Myth to Fairy Tale," Psychoanalysis and the Psychoanalytic Review 46, 4 (1959): 19-29. 15 Ibid., p. 27. 16 B. Bettelheim, The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales, p. 253. 17 Ibid., p. 298. 18 Ibid., p. 293. 19 F. Hoevels, Märchen und Magie in den Metamorphosen des Apuleius von Madaura, p. 255. 20 Ibid., p. 261.
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21 Ibid., p. 270. 22 Ibid., p. 277. 23 S. Freud, "The Theory of the Instincts" in An Outline of Psychoanalysis, in SE, vol. 13, pp. 148-49. 24 E. Neumann, Amor and Psyche—The Psychic Development of the Feminine,
p. 146. 25 Jung defined the shadow as "the negative side of the personality, the sum of all those unpleasant qualities we like to hide together with the insufficiently developed functions and the contents of the personal unconscious" (Two Essays on Analytical Psychology, in CW, vol. 7), p. 6626 Neumann, Amor and Psyche, p. 73. 27 Ibid., p. 99. 28 Ibid., p. 110. 29 Ibid., p. 130. 30 Ibid., pp. 120-21. 31 Ibid., p. 151. 32 M. von Franz, A Psychological Interpretation of The Golden Ass of Apuleius, p. 2. 33 Ibid., pp. 61-62. 34 Ibid., p. 64. 35 Ibid., p. 81. 36 Ibid., p. 75. 37 Ibid., p. 73. 38 Ibid., p. 19. 39 Ibid., p. 78. 40 Ibid., pp. 84-85. 41 Ibid., p. 99. 42 Ibid., p. 109. 43 A. Ulanov, The Feminine in Jungian Psychology and Christian Theology, p. 215.
44 45 46 47
Ibid, p. 219. Ibid., p. 218. Ibid., p. 234. Ibid., p. 239.
48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61
J. Hillman, The Myth of Analysis, p. 67. Ibid., p. 70. Ibid., p. 65. Ibid., p. 104. Ibid., p. 87. R. Johnson, She: Understanding Feminine Psychology, p. 37. Ibid., p. 56. Ibid., p. 61. J. Houston, "Psyche and Eros," in The Search for the Beloved, p. 154. Ibid., p. 157. Ibid., p. 159. Ibid., p. 161. Ibid., p. 167. C. Jung, Mysterium Coniunctionisy in CW, vol. 14, p. 178.
Chapter 6
The Eros and Psyche Myth: An Archetypal Dream
Myths are public dreams, dreams are private myths. — Joseph Campbell
M
any literary studies of the Eros and Psyche myth rightly emphasize its context in Apuleius' Metamorphoses and insist on the close connection between the myth and the story of Lucius. If we combine these studies with insights from the psychological interpretations, we will possess a productive way of treating the myth as an archetypal dream. Such an approach both illuminates the myth itself and highlights the novel's religious significance. In this chapter we will first examine several of the commentaries which explore links between Psyche and Lucius and we will then consider the implications of treating the myth as Lucius' archetypal dream.
Eros and Psyche in Context In recent decades many scholars have discussed parallels between Psyche and Lucius. While they agree in the main that the Eros and Psyche myth is related to Lucius' life, they differ on the character of this relationship. James Tatum, for instance, has emphasized the way the myth summarizes parts of the novel. He sees the myth as a more abstract and allegorical treatment of many of the same ideas covered in the early books of the Metamorphoses} For example, the warnings Eros gives Psyche about not viewing or talking about the god resemble the subtle warnings Lucius received in Books 1-3 about the dangers of magic. Tatum also sees a parallel between how Psyche strives for a kind of transcendental power by opening Persephone's beauty jar and how Lucius seeks the magical power of transformation from the ointment of the witch Pamphile. Another parallel is Psyche's torment by Aphrodite and Lucius' torment by
Notes to Chapter 6 are on pp. 125-26.
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unpredictable fortune. Not only does Tatum focus on how the Eros and Psyche myth mirrors what has happened to Lucius, he also underscores the myth's reflection of Lucius' character, specifically his curiosity and guilelessness. For Alex Scobie, the parallel between Psyche and Lucius is a basic part of the novel's structure. He maintains that, at the point where the myth is inserted into the frame narrative, it recapitulates Lucius' adventures, particularly his misfortunes. Just as Psyche must deal with Aphrodite's anger, so Lucius must come to terms with Fortune.2 Scobie also notes that the myth looks forward to a happy conclusion to Lucius' struggle against cruel fortune. R. Van der Paardt agrees that the myth summarizes Lucius' experience and anticipates his future.3 P. Walsh also cites significant similarities between Psyche and Lucius, namely, their fall by means of curiosity, their difficult wanderings and their redemption by divine powers.4 He also recognizes that Psyche's journey to the underworld anticipates the symbolism of Lucius' religious initiation. Walsh holds that Apuleius made the histories of Psyche and Lucius converge by using the word voluptas to describe the divine union they both experience: Psyche's child from union with the god, Eros, is Voluptas, and religious initiation brings Lucius to the point of inexplicabilis voluptas. Following the lead of Karl Kerenyi, Reinhold Merkelbach goes to great lengths to demonstrate the religious connections between the myth and the novel. He argues that understanding the symbolism of Lucius' initiation is a major key to unlocking the myth's meaning.5 Some of the salient connections include (1) an oracle of the god Apollo calls Psyche to marriage while a dream oracle of the goddess Isis calls Lucius to religious initiation; (2) Psyche first sees Eros at night and Lucius' initiation also occurs at night: (3) the lamp Psyche used to cast light on the god Eros is like the lamp described in the Isis procession, one which is a holy object in the Isis religion; (4) Eros' command that Psyche tell her sisters nothing about him is like the religious vow of secrecy taken by Lucius to keep the holy mysteries from outsiders; (5) Psyche's journey to the underworld is like Lucius' descent to hell in the course of his initiation; (6) the box of beauty ointment which Psyche is forbidden to open resembles the cista mystica described in the Isis procession; (7) Psyche's desire to open the box even though it will lead to her death is like Lucius' "voluntary death" as part of his initiation; and (8) Psyche's deification at the conclusion of the myth mirrors Lucius' being decorated like the sun god as part of his religious initiation, symbolizing that he is immortal and godlike. For Jan Trembley, Psyche's story mirrors Lucius' symbolic death and union with the divine in his initiation into the Isis cult.6 She views the myth
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as a symbolic portrait of the divine level of human experience, and emphasizes how Psyche functions as a mythical expression of Lucius' credulity and sacrilegious curiosity about the supernatural. Paula James explores both the similarities and the differences between Psyche and Lucius. She points out that current scholarship on the relationship of the tale to the novel "forges a number of links between Psyche's and Lucius' spiritual journey."7 She reiterates the usual parallels but cites additional parallels not generally noted: (1) Psyche's entrance into Eros' mysterious palace is a "replay in fantasy form" of Lucius' arrival at Byrrhena's courtyard8 and (2) Psyche's failure to heed Eros' prophetic warnings resembles Lucius' inability to learn from Byrrhena's admonitions. James also contends there are significant differences, for example, between the curiosity of Psyche (more like momentary lapses) and that of Lucius (a sustained desire for knowledge). James sees Psyche's curiosity as a function of her simplicitas, quite unlike Lucius' deliberate quest for the knowledge and power of magic. J. Penwill similarly limits the parallels between Psyche and Lucius, distinguishing between the curiosity of the two figures. For Penwill, Lucius is no longer interested in magic after his disastrous experience of being turned into an ass while Psyche still desires to see Eros despite the prohibition against doing so.(> Moreover, Penwill sees a great difference between the effect of the underworld journey on Psyche and on Lucius: Psyche did not learn anything through her journey as she continued to be motivated by the desire to please Eros (which Penwill interprets as a dominance of irrational desire), while Lucius learned to contain his rash curiosity. Pen will does not sec any spiritual or mental development in Psyche and thus concludes she is not redeemed at all—-a sharp contrast to Lucius' redemption in which, says Penwill, he achieves immortality with persevering chastity.10 This recent literature demonstrates that the literary context is fundamental for a viable interpretation of the Eros and Psyche myth, even where caveats are needed about the exact nature and extent of the parallels between Psyche and Lucius. Overall, these studies stress the myth's summarizing and prefiguring role in relation to Lucius' experience. They also strike a chord with some insights of the earlier psychological interpretations already observed—in particular, von Franz's suggestion that the myth can profitably be considered an archetypal dream.
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The Eros and Psyche Myth as a Dream The appreciable consensus of literary commentary on the close link between the Eros and Psyche myth and Lucius' own experiences supports the proposal to interpret the tale as Lucius' archetypal dream. Moreover, even a cursory reading of Book 11 of the novel leaves no doubt about the key role of dreams in Lucius' experience and especially in his conversion. The many dreams occurring throughout the novel11 should be enough to convince us that Apuleius takes dreams and their communications seriously, quite apart from any appreciation of the crucial role that dreams played in the second century CE and especially in the cult of Isis. In interpreting the myth as Lucius' archetypal dream, I shall draw on insights from the psychological interpretations already discussed rather than search for a single "correct" reading. These psychological vantage points are useful hypotheses to apply provisionally in order to test whether they illuminate some aspects of the story.12 Given the many similarities between myths and dreams already described, I will use this same kind of field approach below. Let us begin by examining the symbolic resemblances central to understanding both myths and dreams. The symbols of the Eros and Psyche story reflect important life experiences and, more specifically, the experiences of Lucius. In this sense the interpretation to follow will resemble the allegorical interpretations considered in the last chapter, but without the Christian or Platonic perspectives. Instead we shall consider Lucius' own lsiac viewpoint as presented in. the Metamorphoses. We start with von Franz's hypothesis that the Eros and Psyche tale does indeed represent an archetypal dream in the Metamorphoses. Von Franz, who was influenced by those before her who speculated on the story's dreamlike character, cites L. Laistner as a significant mentor. J. Schroeder also credited Laistner with first recognizing the myth's dreamlike nature.13 Von Franz outstrips both Laistner and Schroeder in seeing all of the novel's inserted stories as dreams, more specifically as the dreams of Apuleius. While this is an intriguing assumption, my own attempt to interpret the story as Lucius' archetypal dream, not Apuleius', is more specific and limits itself to what it might tell us about Lucius. To view the tale as Lucius' dream does not require exact parallels between Lucius and Psyche. In fact, understood as a dream, this tale would allow an additional perspective on his experience. In "Dream Divination" Aristotle argued that the fundamental principle for understanding dreams is to notice similitudes or resemblances, and not to find "exact" parallels.14 The images and stories of our dreamlife frequently depict our lives from a sym-
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bolic point of view, thus offering a unique opportunity to examine symbolically our existence, our inner life and our life in the external world, exposing us to a deeper perspective on the meaning of life experience. This is a basic presupposition of what follows.
Elements in Dream Interpretation It is necessary to make explicit the method of dream interpretation to be applied. Elsewhere I have described a method which takes into account the approaches of modern psychology as well as traditional beliefs about the manifestation of the divine in dreams.15 Here I shall outline only those aspects of the method relevant to our present task. The following key elements, expressed as rules, are involved: (1) Consider the overall structure of the dream plot. How does this plot resemble the dreamer's life? In treating the Eros and Psyche myth as a dream, we shall try to discover how that story is like Lucius' life. The parallels already noted between it and Lucius' experience apply here. (2) Discover the dreamer's personal associations to the dream images. With each image in the dream ask the dreamer what that image means in relation to his or her own experience. In considering the Eros and Psyche myth as Lucius' dream, we do not have Lucius' personal associations to it, but we may look to the Metamorphoses for possible associations. (3) Note cultural or mythical associations
to dream images. These asso-
ciations broaden the dream's context. Cultural metaphors may symbolize the dynamics of the dreamer's psyche and characterize the dreamer's relationship to society. Here we must ask what the dream symbols might have meant to a person in the second century CE. Mythical associations relate the dreamer to nature, the ancestors and the dreamer's psychological or spiritual centre. We look for possible "universal" meanings of symbols in the Eros and Psyche dream, an archetypal dream, for light they may shed on Lucius' own situation and experiences. (4) Notice the feelings experienced during various parts of the dream. Do these feelings correspond to the dreamer's waking life? Such feelings often provide clues about which aspects of life the dream refers to and thus help illuminate the dream's meaning. Here a participatory method is necessary: the dreamer is encouraged imaginatively to re-enter the dream and recover the feelings emerging in the process. (5) Highlight
and characterize
any conflicts present
in the dream.
Fre-
quently dreams portray conflicts in the dreamer's life. They symbolically express aspects of these conflicts and may also indicate a way to resolve them.
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(6) Attend to the dream series. Examine individual dreams in the context of the person's other dreams. Also consider the dream series as a symbolic record of the dreamer's spiritual journey. Fortunately other dreams of Lucius in the Metamorphoses can serve as part of a rudimentary dream series. (7) Consider the various dimensions of dream reference (see Chapter 3). Those which bear on the Eros and Psyche story are (a) the subjective, (b) the objective, (c) the past, (d) the present, (e) the future and (f) the divine. In considering the Eros and Psyche myth as Lucius' dream, our problem is that the dreamer cannot be present so that we can determine what effect the various dimensions might have on him. Thus, while certain important aspects of verification cannot be used here, two of them are nevertheless applicable: (1) a valid interpretation will allow other elements of the Eros and Psyche dream to fall into place and (2) it will fit in with Lucius' other dreams. A successful verification of any one interpretive hypothesis means that it is appropriate for a particular dream. However, such verification does not rule out other hypotheses even for the same dream, since the dimensions of reference are not mutually exclusive. Frequently two or more dimensions are valid as, for example, when a single dream portrays the state of the dreamer's psyche in relation to key persons in the past and in the present. In such a case four dimensions are involved: the subjective, the objective, the past and the present. In clinical work this is not an unusual combination to emerge. Although the outline of dream interpretation offered above separates out various aspects somewhat artificially for the sake of analytical clarity, in the actual process of interpretation many of these elements overlap, as will be seen below.
The Eros and Psyche Myth as Lucius' Dream (1) Overall Structure of the Dream Plot In the structure of the Eros and Psyche story several elements stand out. Psyche has serious problems which she is able to overcome mainly by outside intervention. In the first instance she is alone and unable to find a marriage partner. When her father tries to uncover the root of the problem by consulting the oracle of Apollo, the situation worsens: Psyche must marry a terrifying monster. She is rescued from this marriage-of-death scene by the god Eros, who takes her for himself rather than obeying Aphrodite's command that Psyche fall in love with a worthless man. Despite Psyche's fortunate rescue, her new life is dampened by the realization that she cannot see her husband and their time together is limited to the night hours.
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Much of the plot's structure revolves around Psyche's rivalry with her sisters and Aphrodite. The sisters try to ruin her relationship with Eros, and Aphrodite is bent on Psyche's destruction when she discovers that Psyche has been involved with Eros. Psyche lurches from crisis to crisis once her curiosity destroys her dark paradise with Eros. Her sorrowful wandering and arduous tasks take her to the point of suicide many times, and in each instance she is rescued by the gods or by forces of nature. But how does this overall plot structure relate to Lucius' life? We have already seen several basic parallels between Psyche and Lucius: both suffer a fall due, in some measure, to curiosity; both endure a difficult period of wandering; and both are finally rescued by divine intervention. At the point when the Eros and Psyche myth/dream 16 is inserted into the Metamorphoses, Lucius has already experienced his fall into the body of an ass and has begun his wanderings from owner to owner. This element of the archetypal dream has already been partially realized in his life, specifically the themes of "falling" and "wandering." Although Lucius' rescue is still a Jong way off in the story, if we assume the myth is an archetypal dream we might expect it to cast light on Lucius' future as well as his past. Dreams often rcfleet both current and long-term issues in a dreamer's life. Jung held that people arc profoundly influenced by a myth or myths which emerge in their dreams.17 If we ask which myth is living itself out in Lucius' life and dreams, it is very plausibly the Eros and Psyche myth, which symbolizes not only Lucius' "sacrilegious curiosity" and sorrowful wanderings, but also his ultimate salvation. Eros' dramatic rescue of Psyche from the deadly sleep is strikingly like the goddess Isis saving Lucius from despair and death. The Eros and Psyche myth as an archetypal dream symbolically captures the sense of crisis, despair and unexpected salvation characterizing Lucius' experience, a cycle foreshadowed even before the myth appears in the novel, namely, in the Festival of Laughter which occurs in Book 3. There Lucius arrives home after an evening of eating and drinking to find what appear to be three men breaking into the house where he is staying. He stabs at these figures in his drunken state and believes he has killed them with his sword; then he staggers to his room and falls asleep. The next morning he is awakened by an uproar outside his room. A number of local people have come to take him away to a trial which he assumes is about the three men he believes he killed the previous night. At the trial Lucius makes up a story about having to defend himself and those in the house against three intruders, but the court refuses to accept this defence and demands vengeance. When Lucius is ordered to uncover the corpses lying on the courtroom floor, he is over-
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whelmed to discover that they are actually inflated wineskins and that the trial was just a hoax. The fickleness of fate symbolized by this incident is a relatively mild prefiguring of the more serious twist of fate which later turns him into an ass. Both events reflect a key theme of the myth/dream: as Aphrodite arranges Psyche's ordeals, so cruel fortune torments Lucius. The overall structure of the Eros and Psyche story, then, is a symbolic presentation of Lucius' life situation at the point in the narrative where the tale is inserted, as well as a portrayal of the long-term developments of his life. From the standpoint of Lucius' personal myth forecasting or patterning his life, the most salient feature of the Eros and Psyche story is the idea that despite human failings and seemingly endless struggles, there is finally salvation. This general description applies to both the myth and Lucius' own story. As a dream, the myth powerfully portrays the tone of Lucius' experience.
(2) Personal Associations Since neither Lucius nor Apuleius are available, we must look to the Metamorphoses itself to see where strong connections might exist between Lucius' experience and the myth. The initial similarities between Lucius and Psyche are so compelling that they suggest she is a symbol of the vicissitudes of his life. Psyche's situation is very much like his: ripe with potential but isolated. The description of Psyche as one gazed at and admired by all but alone, sad and unable to find anyone to marry depicts Lucius' life before his conversion. While Lucius is driven by his curiosity about magic, he cannot commit himself deeply to another person or to the divine. Psyche's isolation continues even in Eros' castle because she lacks normal human companionship. Although she is "with" Eros, she has been unable to develop a conscious relationship to him: she cannot see him nor have any influence in his life. Lucius' involvement with Fotis and magic seems to parallel Psyche's situation, because he too does not consciously develop a relationship with Fotis but rather is ruled by lust. Neither Psyche nor Lucius could maintain a positive relationship to the external world. Most studies of the parallels between the two figures have stressed the element of curiosity. The connection between Psyche's and Lucius' curiosity is noteworthy, especially because it involves a realm beyond normal human experience. As a symbolic dream element it is powerfully suggestive in associating Psyche's experience with that of Lucius. For example, the deadly sleep which threatens to overcome Psyche when she opens Persephone's ointment might well refer to the danger of Lucius' curiosity about magic and the transcendent. As a dream sequence, this element of the myth/dream could be seen as warning Lucius not to seek the power of the otherworld unre-
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strainedly but to wait for divine initiative. Of course, when he experiences the myth/dream, he does not yet know that Isis will approach him and offer him the secrets of the otherworld. A discussion of other possible "personal associations" to the Eros and Psyche myth/dream must wait until later in Lucius' story.
(3) Cultural Associations Given that the Greek word psyche means the soul, Psyche might well symbolize Lucius' soul or mind. In Jungian psychology, a man's unconscious is personified by a feminine figure named anima, the Latin word for soul. The anima frequently appears as a personified guide who leads a person into a deeper relationship to the unconscious. In a man's dreams, this role is usually assumed by a female figure who helps the dreamer or leads him in the transformation process. Psyche as a dream figure could thus easily represent either Lucius' entire soul or a personification of his unconscious psyche. Aphrodite, as the goddess of love, has a mythological association with fecundity and promiscuity. Her presence in Lucius' dream could refer to his resistance to moving beyond this mode of relationship with women. She represents that negative aspect of the great mother archetype, characterized by Neumann as the bad mother, who symbolizes the inability to form relationships based on personal encounter rather than lust. Aphrodite's jealousy of Psyche suggests that Psyche has something which Aphrodite lacks. In relation to Lucius, the dream may be saying that his lust (symbolized by Aphrodite) is an inferior mode of relating, considering his psyche's capacity for conscious development. The tasks which Aphrodite imposes on Psyche actually aid in this development of reason. In the tasks where Psyche must discriminate in sorting seeds and learn the timing essential to acquiring fleece from the dangerous rams, she is heightening her powers of consciousness. As a dream sequence, Psyche's development points to Lucius' need to free himself from the domination of lust and greed for magical power. The mythological associations to Eros recall him as the god of love as well as the winged infant who defies social custom. Apuleius depicts him partly as a spoiled child who despises social restraint, interferes with marriage ties and perpetrates all kinds of mischief.18 Although recognizing the humorous connotations of Eros as a "bad boy," Apuleius also knows that Eros symbolizes how closely the divine is related to love. For Apuleius, the Eros figure portrays an aspect of the divine which is at odds with social convention and cannot entirely be grasped by society's expectations. We shall further examine these more serious aspects of the Eros symbol below.
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(4) Feelings During the Dream In the normal course of dream analysis, a dreamer notes the feelings which emerge in a dream and uses them to connect the dream to his or her life.19 Here our guide is the feelings which emerge in the course of entering into the Eros and Psyche myth as if it were a dream. Just as a dreamer might use an experience of anxiety, sadness or joy as a clue to the reference of a dream in his or her life, so we can try to connect the feelings evoked upon entering into the myth to Lucius' expressed feelings. If Lucius could speak of the days leading up to the Eros and Psyche dream, he would likely include the experiences surrounding his magical transformation into an ass and his feelings about this tragic outcome of his having dabbled in magic. Very shortly before the appearance of the Eros and Psyche story in the novel, Lucius, in the form of an ass, is taken by thieves to carry their packs. When given a chance to graze, he sees at a distance a small plantation of trees and some bright red roses among them. This is a ray of light for him, since he knows that eating rose petals is the antidote which will return him to human form. With high hopes he prays to the god of luck as he gallops off toward the roses, only to discover they are poisonous rose laurels. In despair, Lucius resolves to commit suicide by eating the mock roses. This scene is remarkably like Psyche's despair when she loses Eros and faces the seemingly impossible tasks given her by Aphrodite. Significantly, as Lucius spies the mock roses from a distance, he imagines the place as a "grove of Venus (Aphrodite) and the graces." 20 Here Aphrodite is associated with a false hope that brings him to despair, just as she brought Psyche to despair. This repeated echo of despair follows Lucius as he continues his trials as an ass, just as it follows Psyche in most of her story. As a dream, the Eros and Psyche tale captures the predominant mood or feeling tone of Lucius' experience, especially the feelings of frustration, suffering and despair before his religious conversion in Book 11. The uplifting feelings at the close of the myth/dream surrounding Psyche's final rescue, marriage to Eros and deification parallel feelings that emerge in Lucius' experience only late in the novel. At the time Lucius encounters the tale, such feelings can only kindle a distant hope.
(5) Conflict and Resolution Two main conflicts arise in the Eros and Psyche myth/dream: one between Psyche and Aphrodite, and the other between Psyche and her sisters. The conflict between Psyche and Aphrodite propels the entire story. From the very first, the myth/dream's action is determined by Aphrodite's antagonism toward Psyche, her arranging for Psyche to marry a worthless man, and her
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setting deadly tasks aimed at destroying Psyche. The conflict between Psyche and her sisters moves the plot beyond the dark paradise in the magic castle, which presumably would have continued indefinitely if the sisters had not pushed Psyche to break Eros' taboo and discover his identity. Of the commentators, von Franz and Ulanov have emphasized that the sisters are shadow figures—that is, dark and underdeveloped aspects of Psyche's personality. If the myth is Lucius' dream, then the sisters seem to represent aspects of Lucius' psyche which lead him into trouble. As such, they symbolize his curiosity and quest for the knowledge and power of magic, a course of action which leads to disaster. Only Lucius' suffering in this subhuman state and his subsequent wandering and ill treatment, however, prepare him to face the underworld's powers with a different attitude. He comes to recognize the limitations of human curiosity, and he develops a reverence for a transcendence which cannot be controlled and manipulated by magic. Thus, Psyche's struggle with her sisters is plausibly symbolic of Lucius' wrestling with his curiosity and quest for magical power. In the conflict between Aphrodite and Psyche, Psyche seems to have lost on many occasions: in the marriage of death, in losing Eros and in the four perilous tasks. She is in conflict with Aphrodite's divine power, and her own personal (human) resources fail to measure up to the challenges and dangers she must face. But in each case she is rescued by forces of nature or culture and, finally, divine intervention. Considering this story as Lucius' dream offers hope that his seemingly insurmountable obstacles may also eventually be overcome through divine aid. At a point where all hope seems lost, Eros rescues Psyche from the deadly sleep of Persephone's ointment. This dream sequence appears to anticipate that moment in Lucius' own life when he is at his wit's end and the goddess saves him from despair and death. At the point where the myth/dream appears in the novel, it can only offer a faint hope that Lucius will ultimately be redeemed. When the dream occurs, he could hardly imagine all the suffering still to come, nor the dramatic conversion experience which will bring his wanderings to a happy conclusion. Yet as an archetypal dream in which the terrible conflicts are ultimately resolved, it provides reassurance and encouragement for Lucius to carry on.
(6) The Dream Series In Chapter 4 we examined the other dreams in the Metamorphoses, some of which can be viewed as part of a dream series offering additional context for interpreting the Eros and Psyche myth as a dream. The dreams in view here are those presented by Apuleius as Lucius' own dreams. All of them occur in the novel's last book and cover a wide variety of dream phenomena such as
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incubation dreams, divine dreams, precognitive dreams and double dreams. What is immediately apparent is that the Eros and Psyche myth/dream is the first dream in the series. Even if we decline to recognize the spiritual significance of this myth when treated in isolation from the Metamorphoses, we could hardly do so when it is placed in the context of Lucius' dreams. The spiritual character of this dream series is unmistakable. After the Eros and Psyche dream, the next one is a profound visionlike dream where Lucius is overwhelmed by the powerful presence of the moon, which he experiences as a primal goddess who rules over all objects and creatures, including human beings. He is so moved that he decides to purify himself and pray to the queen of heaven to be restored to his human shape. This prayer sets up a dream incubation scene in which Lucius falls asleep to enter yet another magnificent dream. He describes the wonderful appearance of the goddess Isis, who reveals her name and promises to relieve him of his bestial form and return him to a human body. In this dream apparition are also elements of precognition, whereby specific events of the following days are revealed and later confirmed. Lucius also experiences several other dreams in which Isis appears to him and commands him to be initiated into her cult. Before his story ends, he also has dream visions of the god Osiris. In the context of this dream series where the divine presence is so prominent, we are obliged to consider the divine potential in the Eros and Psyche myth as the first dream in the series. The representation of the divine is expressed particularly in the figures of Eros and Aphrodite. Even when these gods are given human attributes and failings such as jealousy and mischief-making, they remain symbols of an otherworld which the world's religions have traditionally referred to as the divine. Detailed discussion of this subject will soon follow. Here we need only realize that the context given by the dream series lends itself to a spiritual interpretation, which in turn highlights the myth's spiritual dimensions.
(7) Dimensions of Dream Reference (a) Subjective Dimension At this level, the dream's characters and action refer to the mind's inner workings. The subjective dimension of the Eros and Psyche myth/dream would reflect Lucius' inner life: Psyche would represent his conscious situation (or, to follow the Jungians, his unconscious or anima) while the other figures would portray various forces in his personality. This is the level at which most psychological commentators have analyzed the myth. The Jungians, in particular, have tended to view Aphrodite as the mother archetype, the inertia of the unconscious and lust. In all these aspects she symbolizes the antago-
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nism between Lucius' conscious development and his desire to remain in the mother's unconscious embrace. Von Franz, for instance, focuses on Lucius' (and Apuleius') mother complex and the way it impedes personality development. Given Aphrodite's role in the Eros and Psyche story, we can indeed see her as a symbol of the unconscious in its largely undifferentiated state. Continuing at the subjective level, Psyche's sisters could, in the first instance, symbolize Lucius' lust and restless curiosity which pushed him to experiment with magic. As such they represent negative characteristics which led Lucius to his divided state, a man in the body of an ass. As shadow elements, they express a kind of pseudo-will with the autonomous character of unconscious complexes—an inferior, split-off will or complex only fragmentarily related to Lucius' conscious centre of will and action. The sisters may also symbolize how psychological transformation is brought about; realignments in the unconscious pave the way for developments in consciousness and changes in behaviour. While representing unintegrated aspects of Lucius' psyche the sisters appear to be negative, yet it is at their bidding that Psyche is forced to create a different kind of relationship to Eros. This is an impressive instance of the shadow being a painful, yet important, stimulus to development. Eros, at the subjective level, could represent the lust which seems to rule Lucius' experience in the first books of the novel. When Lucius is lost in his sensuous attachment to Fotis and tries to elicit her help in acquiring the witch's magic ointment, he promises to stand at her side like a winged Eros (Cupid) hovering around Aphrodite (Met. 3, 22). This reference appears to mirror Eros as he is in the early part of the myth/dream when under the domination of Aphrodite—one who keeps Psyche in the dark and forbids her to see him or to know him consciously. This part of Psyche's story, including the taboo against her seeing Eros in the dark, would be a forceful way for a dream to portray Lucius' inadequate mode of relating to other human beings early in his development,
(b) Objective Dimension At the objective level, the characters and action of the dream would refer to people, places and events in Lucius' life. Many commentators have noted how Psyche's fall from her dark paradise with Eros and her subsequent painful wandering parallels Lucius' fall into the body of an ass and the difficult period following that disaster. At this level key events of the myth/dream would represent the major events in Lucius' experience around the time the dream occurred. Psyche's sorrow and despair without Eros is, then, a dreamlike reflection of Lucius' pitiful wandering in the body of an ass at the hands of fate.
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Most psychological commentators have treated Psyche's sisters at the subjective level. But at the objective level we can regard them as symbols of the witch, Pamphile, and Fotis in her unwitting role in Lucius' metamorphosis into an ass. Such an interpretation casts these characters in a negative light but also recognizes their long-range contribution to Lucius' overall development, since they indirectly lead to his conversion.
(c) Past Dimension At the point where the Eros and Psyche story appears, Lucius has already undergone his horrifying transformation into the body of an ass. This past event and the curiosity which led him to it appear to be symbolized by Psyche's curiosity, which causes her to transgress Eros' command and results in her fall from the paradise of Eros' castle. In particular, the scene where Psyche shines the light on Eros, and in doing so burns him, seems to capture the experience that so changed Lucius' life in the early part of the Metamorphoses. When Eros is burnt, he leaps out of bed and flies into the air with Psyche clinging to his right leg by both hands. She hangs on until her strength gives way and then falls back to earth. As a dream sequence this powerfully portrays how Lucius' expectations were lifted into the air in his relationship with Fotis and magic and how he was dashed back to earth when he lost both his hope of magical adventure and the capacity for normal relationship to others in a human body. Aphrodite, the goddess of love, seems to symbolize fittingly Lucius' past lustful involvement with Fotis. In fact Lucius describes part of their lovemaking with the imagery of Venus (Aphrodite).21 Aphrodite as the one who torments Psyche might also reflect the way fate has played tricks on Lucius in the mock-trial scene of the Festival of Laughter, as well as in the disastrous result of his dabbling with magic.
(d) Present Dimension This level of dream interpretation deals with the psyche's present state. When Lucius experiences the Eros and Psyche story, he is already in the body of an ass, wandering from owner to owner at fate's hands. The aspect of the myth/dream which seems to correspond to his current situation is that of Psyche's tasks. Psyche is suffering from the loss of Eros and tormented by Aphrodite. Her tasks might represent the arduous process whereby Lucius moves beyond his old tendencies and recovers his capacity for conscious relationship to other persons and to the divine. As we saw earlier, most Jungian commentators view Psyche's tasks as symbolizing the struggles of psychological development. This insight is rele-
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vant to considering the tasks in the present dimension of interpretation. Sorting seeds could well refer to Lucius' need to control his lust and channel his promiscuity. The ants coming to Psyche's aid may represent the unconscious forces working behind the scenes to restructure Lucius' way of relating to others. That ants are associated with instinctual orderliness and wisdom22 tends to support von Franz's view that this task symbolizes Lucius' instinctual life and its need for reorganization. The task of gathering fleece from the rams seems to refer to Lucius' relationship to transcendent power. The fleece also has associations with wisdom and strength of spirit,23 qualities Lucius develops on his journey to Isis. For Psyche the power of the fleece is dangerous if sought in the wrong way, but if she attends to the proper timing she can acquire the fleece without harm. This situation mirrors Lucius' learning about timing and wisdom in the spiritual life. He eventually comes to the transcendent power of Isis, but only when he is ready for it and Isis initiates the encounter. Gathering the fleece appears related to the task of taking water from the deadly Styx river, which Neumann characterizes as learning to channel the stream of vital psychic energy without being destroyed by it. This symbolism may express Lucius' need to be open to transcendent power, but through disciplined service rather than experimental magic.
(e) Future Dimension The future (or precognitive) dimension of dream interpretation looms large in Lucius' world of dreams, as it does generally in the second century. In the Eros and Psyche myth/dream, the precognitive level is readily apparent in relation to the course of Lucius' trials as they finally issue in his conversion and initiation. Psyche's tasks seem to reflect certain events in Lucius' life which occur well after the story appears in the novel. Psyche's third task, filling the crystal vessel with water from the Styx, could be seen as a dream portrayal of Lucius' future spiritual death in preparation for his transformation and spiritual rebirth. The crystal vessel may symbolize the fragile quality of the psyche, which becomes endangered in the process of spiritual transformation. In addition, the transparent quality of crystal may symbolize the union of opposites24 that occurs during transformations in which individuals die spiritually to attain new life. The eagle who comes to Psyche's rescue is the same one which, in Greek myth, brought Prince Ganymede to Zeus. Ganymede was a human being who was carried to heaven and divinized. This allusion closely links the task of fetching water from the river of the dead (a symbol of undergoing spiritual death) with the divinization of a human being. Such a divinization
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occurs in both Psyche and Lucius. The eagle may also be a dream symbol of watchful divine providence, thus representing the providential care of Isis which guides Lucius through spiritual death to a new kind of life. Psyche's final task, her descent into the underworld, is also connected to the death-resurrection theme so prominent in Lucius' future initiation. The ointment Psyche is to bring from the underworld refers to the Egyptian practice of anointing statues of their gods with a creamlike substance.25 The ointment is thus linked to the religious dimension of Lucius' future transformation and, as Neumann has pointed out, the fact that it derives from the underworld means it promises the eternal youthfulness of death.26 The many connections between the Eros and Psyche myth and Lucius' initiation which Merkelbach notes27 further support the claim that aspects of the myth as a dream anticipate key developments in Lucius' future. Psyche's deification may also be seen as a symbol of Lucius' future initiation and transformation. Lucius' symbolic deification is highlighted in the imagery of his initiation, where he becomes identified with Isis' son, Horus, the sun god. The precognitive dimension of dream interpretation overlaps here with the divine dimension.
(f) Divine Dimension In the divine dimension of dream reference, the Eros and Psyche myth/dream reflects Lucius' future relationship to Isis in his conversion and initiation into her cult. Since the myth/dream appears long before his conversion, most of this dimension of interpretation overlaps with the precognitive dimension. The representation of the divine is expressed particularly in the figures of Aphrodite and Eros. In this portrait conflicting aspects of the divine are presented. Aphrodite, for example, persecutes Psyche, yet at the same time pushes her toward development. Aphrodite's role parallels that of the blind fortune which torments Lucius, yet ultimately leads him to redemption. The priest of Isis makes this point explicit when he puts Lucius' life in perspective.28 He reiterates how the storms of fortune have buffeted Lucius and notes that neither Lucius' high birth nor learning were of any avail. Yet he stresses that, ironically, the same blind fortune which ensnared Lucius also led him to release. The priest advises him to break with fortune and turn to Isis, who has dominion even over the power of fate. Another aspect of the divine is represented by Eros. Eros as a dreamlike expression of the divine emphasizes that humans experience divinity as a kind of love in the darkness. The divine takes the initiative and so governs the time and character of the relationship that the human being is not in control of the process. Lucius' experience of the divine certainly follows this pattern.
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Eros embracing Psyche in the dark seems to mirror Isis' approach to Lucius in the night. The crucial role of dreams is evident here. It is via the dream that Isis first approaches Lucius, then guides his relationship to her and finally directs him towards initiation into her cult. Thus, the depiction of Psyche's encounter with Eros in the night aptly symbolizes Lucius' future experience of the goddess Isis in the dream world. Psyche's deification at the end of the story is also relevant to the divine dimension of dream interpretation. In the myth/dream Psyche becomes divine through her union with the god Eros. We have already seen that Lucius' initiation depicts him as descending to the underworld and being decorated like the sun god, Horus. This theme of spiritual death and rebirth is fundamental to the cult of Isis. In Lucius' new life he is divinized in that he has entered into communion with the goddess Isis, and this relationship is maintained through frequent meetings in the dreamworld. The birth of Psyche's child, Voluptas, at the end of the myth/dream seems to be a strong confirmation of the fruit of Lucius' relationship to the divine. When we treat the Eros and Psyche story as Lucius' archetypal dream, Voluptas then expresses clearly the joy Lucius feels upon recovering from a divided spiritual and psychological state. Apuleius himself appears to make this connection explicit when he uses the term "ineffable pleasure" (inexplicahili voluptate) to describe the joy Lucius experiences when contemplating Isis. We have now observed how various elements of the Eros and Psyche story fall into place when considered as Lucius' dream. By applying the several dimensions of dream analysis, not only does the myth acquire a certain coherence in that its characters and actions relate meaningfully to each other, but the meaning of Lucius' experiences is illuminated. We have also traced the way Lucius' dream series offers a context for interpreting the Eros and Psyche story with due regard for its unquestionable religious potential and significance. Because von Franz was the first commentator to regard the Eros and Psyche myth as an archetypal dream, we should now compare her interpretation with the one put forward here. First, both interpretations agree on the principle, recognized by most of the recent non-psychological studies, that the myth is intimately related to the story line of the Metamorphoses and should not be interpreted in isolation from its frame narrative. Secondly, von Franz stresses the myth more as Apuleius' rather than Lucius' archetypal dream, indicating her desire to explore Apuleius' psychological condition as opposed to Lucius'. While the author and his semi-autobiographical creation are undoubtedly related, the interpretation we are advancing focuses more on
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the relationship of the myth to Lucius* story, and especially to his religious experience in Book 11. Thirdly, von Franz's interpretation is less optimistic than the one proposed here. She believes that Aphrodite's domination of Psyche in the myth indicates that Apuleius is under the control of the mother archetype and that his individual personality fails to find its unique expression as a result. Only when the anima begins to distinguish itself from the mother archetype—as symbolized by Psyche managing to complete Aphrodite's tasks and marry Eros—does von Franz hold out any hope for Apuleius' psychological predicament. Von Franz argues that Psyche's tasks mainly refer to Apuleius' need to come to terms with his emotional life and his deep unconscious. While she interprets Eros' rescue of Psyche in the final task as an intervention of the self-archetype, she concludes that any gains Apuleius and Lucius made, as symbolized by completing the tasks, are lost in the unconscious. As we have seen, she argues that Apuleius' spiritual quest remains an undeveloped potential never reaching conscious realization. In the final analysis von Franz credits neither Apuleius nor Lucius with a genuine or successful spiritual transformation. As the reader will be aware, the interpretation offered in this chapter diverges at key points from von Franz's view and reaches dramatically different conclusions. Aphrodite does seem to represent Lucius' original condition of being under the domination of lust and in an undifferentiated unconscious state. But this is his initiai condition, not his post-conversion state. Psyche's tasks symbolize a positive development and realignment in Lucius' unconscious which prepare him for his religious conversion. The spiritual transformation portrayed in Book 11 offers a convincing picture of a man who has come to terms with his unconscious and has established a profound relationship with the divine in his ongoing encounter (through dreams) with the goddess Isis. Von Franz' conclusion that Psyche's marriage to Eros in Olympus automatically indicates that Apuleius' or Lucius' mystical experience has been lost in the unconscious is highly questionable. What this symbolism actually suggests, at least with respect to Lucius' religious experience, is that the unconscious is indeed the locus of union with the divine. In fact, it aptly symbolizes the dreamworld as the primary ground for encountering the divine in the Isis religion. Contrary to von Franz, to affirm the unconscious as the vehicle for spiritual experience does not mean either that (1) the experience is restricted to, or lost in, the unconscious or (2) there are no substantial implications for conscious life and behaviour.
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Regarding the first point, that the divine contacts human beings through the unconscious has remained a valuable hypothesis ever since William James argued that the unconscious (or subconscious, as he called it) is a window which can open out onto a larger, potentially spiritual world. That all the world's major religions have affirmed dreams as a primary vehicle of divine revelation supports the notion that the unconscious is a preferred means to, and ground of, relationship to the divine. Even apart from these religious testimonies, numerous dream investigators have set forth the spiritual dimensions of dreams and the unconscious.29 With respect to the second point, the Metamorphoses itself suggests that Lucius' religious experience was not somehow isolated from his conscious life. Instead, we see him turn his preasinine existence completely around and integrate his religious experience into his life. By the novel's end, he has organized his life around his relationship to Isis, contemplation and work in the area of law. On balance, then, understanding the Eros and Psyche myth as an archetypal dream is a rewardingly fruitful way of combining what literary studies on the parallels between Psyche and Lucius offer with certain lines of psychological interpretation of the myth itself. Such a perspective not only allows for a meaningful interpretation of the myth in relation to its literary context, but also highlights both the religious significance of the Metamorphoses and the important role of the dreamworld in it. In the next chapter we shall focus on the central place of Lucius' religious experience in the novel.
Notes 1 J. Tatum, Apuleius and The Golden Ass, p. 56. 2 A. Scobie, "The Structure of Apuleius' Metamorphoses," in AA, p. 53. 3 P. Van der Paardt, "'Various Aspects of Narrative Technique in Apuleius' Metamorphoses" in AA> p. 81. 4 P. Walsh, "Lucius Madaurensis," Phoenix 26 (1968): 146. 5 R. Merkelbach, "Eros und Psyche," in APy p. 398. 6 J. Tremhley, 'The Beloved Self: Erotic and Religious Themes in Apuleius' Metamorphoses and the Greek Romance" (Ph.D. diss., Princeton University, 1981), p. 84. 7 P. James, Unity in Diversity, p. 120. 8 Ibid., p. 128. 9 J. Penwill, "Slavish Pleasures and Profitless Curiosity: Fall and Redemption in Apuleius' Metamorphoses" Ramus 4 (1975): 56. 10 Ibid., pp. 58-59. 11 At least fifteen passages in the Metamorphoses present dreams and their mysterious workings. 12 See my Dreams in the Psychology of Religion, pp. 138-39, 167-68.
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13 Schroeder and E. Tegethoff have also put forward the idea of the possible relationship of the Eros and Psyche tale to dreams. 14 Cited in R. Woods and H. Greenhouse, eds., The New World of Dreams, p. 171. 15 Gollnick, Dreams in the Psychology of Religion. This work also includes a discussion of the history and methods of dream interpretation. 16 I refer to the Eros and Psyche myth as a myth/dream to emphasize my intent to treat it as Lucius' archetypal dream. 17 C. Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections, pp. 3-4. 18 Met. 4,30. 19 Walter Bonime describes the central role of feelings in dream analysis in The Clinical Use of Dreams. 20 "Veneris et Gratiarum i u c u m i n Met. 4, 2. 21 Met. 2, 17. 22 A. de Vries, Dictionary of Symbols and Imagery, p. 16. 23 Ibid., p. 220. 24 The opposites symbolized by crystal are matter and transparency (matter which can be seen through). 25 Von Franz, A Psychological Interpretation of The Golden Ass of Apuleius, pp. 103-104. 26 E. Neumann, Amor and Psyche—The Psychic Development of the Feminine. p. 118. 27 See the beginning of this chapter, p. 108. 28 Met. 11, 15. 29 For example, see Morton Kelsey's God, Dreams and Revelation: A Christian Interpretation of Dreams, John Sanford's Dreams: God's Forgotten Language. Scott Cunningham's Sacred Sleep: Dreams and the Divine and Kelly Bulkeley's Spiritual Dreaming: A Cross-Cultural and Historical Journey.
Chapter 7
Lucius' Religious Experience
This idea of becoming a god is age-old. The old belief relegates it to the time after death, but the mystery cults bring it about in this world. — Carl Jung
F
or Lucius, dreams are the key to unlock the doors which shroud the experience of the divine. In this final chapter of our study, we shall explore the motif of religious experience in relation to his dreams, conversion and initiation into the cult of Isis. As we carry out our exploration, the work of William James, one of the great pioneers in the psychology of religion, will prove invaluable, as, to a lesser extent, will some of Carl Jung's notions. Our assumption throughout is that Apuleius' account of the conversion process is trustworthy. Lucius' conversion and subsequent relationship to Isis represent, as A. Nock has contended, the high-water mark of piety that grew out of the mystery religions. The greatest miracle of the Metamorphoses, says commentator John Griffiths, is Lucius' spiritual regeneration.1 Griffiths is certainly correct; the most significant metamorphosis in Apuleius' novel is conversion. Lucius' initiation into the mysteries of Isis marks a genuine rebirth (renatus, Met. 11, 16 and 21) and is even called "the birthday of initiation" (natalem sacrorum, Met. 11, 24). This birth of initiation follows a ritual involving identification with Osiris in death and being reborn with him to a new life. A. Festugière considers Lucius' conversion to be central to the Metamorphoses and a clue to its meaning: [T]here is obviously a connection between book XI and the rest of the novel. . . . One may suppose that, from the beginning, Apuleius had in mind the events at the end of the work, and may consequently consider the whole novel as a story of a sin and a redemption, a conversion in the proper sense of the word— the passage from a sinner's miserable condition to a pure and sanctified life 2
Notes to Chapter 7 are on pp. 148-52. 127
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Festugière finds this interpretation of the novel, among all the possible readings, to be the most compelling. Another commentator, Luke Johnson, praises the Metamorphoses for giving such insight into the spirituality of the Hellenistic period and, especially, because it testifies to a genuine conversion experience in the mystery religions: The Golden Ass reveals the craving of ordinary people for some power over their life and some sense of identity in an alienating world. Those desires could be met only imperfectly by magic and astrology. The mysteries offered much more. The case of Lucius indicates that we can add conversion to the list of Hellenistic religious experiences. The commitment of Lucius to Isis did not preclude his honouring other gods, but it did reverse the direction of his life in a fundamental way, and in return for his lifelong commitment to her, he could expect to receive eternal life. 3
Johnson calls attention to the vital role conversion experiences offered by these religions played in the spiritual climate of the second-century, GrecoRoman world. Franz Cumont adds to this picture when he says: If it is true that every conversion involves a psychological crisis, a transformation of the intimate personality of the individual, this is especially true of the propagation of the Oriental religions. . . . In place of the ancient social groups communities of initiates came into existence, who considered themselves brothers no matter where they came from. A god, conceived of as being universal, received every mortal as his child.4
Here Cumont emphasizes the universality of the phenomenon of personality transformation brought about in the cult of Isis and the other mystery religions. With the remarks of these commentators as background, we are now ready to view Lucius' conversion from William James' perspective.
James' View of Religious Experience and Conversion In general, conversion is considered to be a reorientation of the personality. A number of Apuleius scholars have found William James' perspective on the psychology of conversion and mysticism helpful for understanding the religious experience presented in the Metamorphoses. Nancy Shumate agrees with G. Sandy that James "remains the only useful guide" to the psychology of conversion.5 In examining Lucius' conversion Shumate finds the key theme to be his reorientation of values, a fundamentally religious theme which she traces from the beginning of the novel, where Lucius pursues the
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false values of pleasure and curiosity to its climax where he discovers true value in a life dedicated to the divine. What Shumate finds so appealing about James' phenomenological method is his extensive, detailed collection and classification of case histories which do not prejudge a conversion but allow expression of the nature and meaning of the experience. James established the primary categories, as well as the central place, of religious experience in the psychology of religion. His definition of religion as "the feelings, acts, and experiences of individual men [sic] in their solitude, so far as they apprehend themselves to stand in relation to whatever they may consider divine,"6 reveals his focus on the role of feelings and experience. James' view helped shape the initial standpoint of the psychology of religion and continues to guide research today. According to James, the principal categories of religious experience are (1) the reality of the unseen (experiences of an unseen order of being); (2) healthy-minded religious experience (the tendency to look upon things as good); (3) the sick (suffering) soul experience (the view that evil is the very essence of life); (4) conversion; (5) saintliness; and (6) mysticism. Three of these categories pertain to the religious experience described in the Metamorphoses—the reality of the unseen, conversion and mysticism. James' method is even more important than his classification scheme.7 His first concern is the context of religious experiences, the various phenomena which often surround such experiences, from hallucinations to psychic phenomena. For James, the initial step is a careful description of everything that is happening in the experience. Then follows a consideration of any other states of mind or conditions that might resemble a specific religious experience. These "collateral phenomena" might be neurological disorders, types of subconscious activity or even forms of psychopathology. Even when he understands the frequent proximity of neurological disorders, psychic events, trance states or pathological phenomena to religious experience, James never simply reduces religious experience to such phenomena by viewing it as "nothing but psychopathology" or "nothing but neurological disturbances." James uses two criteria to evaluate religious experiences regardless of what phenomena might accompany them, or even be at their origins: (1) what the experience means to the person who is having it and (2) how the experience affects that person's life. The focus is on the experience's inner meaning and spiritual consequences. Both criteria are applicable to the religious experience presented in the Metamorphoses. Much of what James says about conversion is germane to Lucius' conversion. In James' view of the psyche, a state of inner division frequently precedes conversion. James observes that some people have constitutions which
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are more discordant than other people's. They experience many conflicts, such as the spirit versus the flesh, incompatible wishes or irrational impulses that run counter to the voice of reason and conscious ideals. Unifying the inner self can often be a period of unhappiness, struggle and guilt. James speaks of two selves being pitted against each other as a figurative way to depict this sense of inner conflict. His case studies show that the unification process may or may not in itself be a religious change. The essence of the conversion experience is the reorganization of the personality around a new passion, such as love, patriotic devotion, revenge or some other powerful force in the person. James considers a conversion religious when the new focus of excitement in the personality is a group of religious ideas to which one is completely devoted and from which one acts.8 Such a description aptly fits Lucius' transformation in Book 11, when he orients himself entirely around Isis and her religious cult. The conversion experience may come gradually or abruptly. In the abrupt or sudden conversion, James says it is as if some outside power has laid hold of the person, and attributes such an abrupt change to subconscious incubation, which means that a religious idea system has been at work subconsciously, moving towards the sudden rearrangement of the centre of personal energy. This idea system may develop with little or no knowledge and participation of the conscious mind, though, as James says, "conscious strainings let loose subconscious allies behind the scenes." In the case of Lucius, the subconscious incubation characteristic of sudden conversion is clearly at work.
Lucius' Conversion as Character Transformation Lucius' transformation consists of a combination of experiences which together form the total change in his personality. The outset of the story shows us a man possessing both simplicity and curiosity. Lucius appears open to, and compelled to, investigate the world's mysterious and strange aspects, especially as they surface in the powers of magic. His curiosity about magic propels him to commit the sacrilegious act of attempting to penetrate the divine realm on his own initiative, and leads to his first metamorphosis. Closely tied to his curiosity is his erotic relationship with Fotis, which surrounds his immersion in magic. Lucius' plea to her reveals the mixture of elements involved in his curiosity about magic: Help me to spy on your mistress when next she looses some of her superhuman powers, so that when she invokes the gods my own eyes may see her slough her present form. For I am most enthusiastically bent on a closer acquaintance with
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Magic, though, now I think of it, you don't seem altogether so uninstructed a neophyte yourself. 1 know this. Look. I experience it. I, that have already turned down the perfumed bodies of ladies, stand here a slave, freely fettered and enthraled—and all owing to your bright eyes, and your ruddied cheeks, and your glistening hair, and your open kisses, and your scented breasts.10 (Met. 3, 19)
Lucius confesses his willing slavery to Fotis, which in the story is presented as an integral part of his driving curiosity about magic, since it is so obsessive.11 Fotis agrees to help Lucius gain the secret knowledge of magic but warns him that he must remain completely silent about what he discovers. This warning seems to anticipate the sworn secrecy of Lucius' initiation into the mystery religion of Isis, which Apuleius brings to the reader's attention: "Perhaps, curious reader, you are keen to know what was said and done. I would tell you if it were permitted to tell. But both the ears that heard such things and the tongue that told them would reap a heavy penalty for such rashness"12 (Met. 11, 23). This secrecy emphasizes the taboo character of the transformations involved. And from the difference in Lucius' attitude toward the two initiations (of magic and of religion), we can see how much he has changed from the bold seeker wanting to break into the transcendent realm of magic to the respectful initiate hesitating before entering the sacred realm of Isis. The first transformation begins with Fotis alerting Lucius that the witch Pamphile is going to change herself into a bird in order to fly into the bedroom of the man with whom she wishes to have an affair. Lucius watches as Pamphile undresses, smears ointment all over her body and incants magic charms. The symbolism is significant: Lucius desires to become a bird—that is, he wishes to transcend his limited human condition through magic. The wish to fly is one of humanity's most ancient desires, and the bird has long symbolized transformation and transcendence for shamans as they embark on their spiritual journey,13 At this stage of his life, however, Lucius is not much concerned with the spiritual implications of this transcendent symbol, and Fotis hesitates to help him with such a magical transformation (he might use the newly acquired liberty of flight to chase after women). But Lucius allays Fotis' fears and finally persuades her to help him with his metamorphosis into a bird. She brings him some of the witch's ointment, which he greedily applies to his body. Lucius waits for his wings to sprout, but is shocked when the transformation takes place. Instead of wings of freedom he gets a tail, tough hide and hoofs. The symbolism of Lucius' metamorphosis into an ass carries several meanings. James Tatum stresses its religious import:
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The transformation of a man into an ass is not only a matter of poetic justice; for those who know the cult of Isis, it also is an action of the highest religious significance. That is, the transformation of Lucius is one of the most compelling religious experiences in the novel—fully as significant as his muchstudied conversion in Book l l . 1 4
The ass, Tatum recalls, is a symbol of Seth, who stands for the pre-creation chaos which was overcome by Isis. Tatum also highlights the Platonic ideas at work here: Generally speaking, tales of transformation will be not so much about the development of a person's psychology as a symbol of it; some single facet of the personality will be represented in a symbolic transformation. In this act lies the philosophical aspect of which Socrates speaks in the Phaedo. Lucius will tum into an animal that represents the very faults he possessed as a young man: unwise curiosity, audacity and sexual licence. Lucius, with a man's intelligence, will be encased within the body of a beast and never change his character at all; he will continually fall prey to the same errors as when a man, and, because of his shape, those errors will be grosser than ever.15
In this view, Lucius' metamorphosis reflects the psychological condition of his soul, and the similarities Tatum observes between the ass symbol and Lucius bear this out. Similarly, Shumate sees the ass symbol as an appropriate metaphor for the state of Lucius' soul. Lucius' transformation symbolizes his orientation to false values, which are an unreliable and unstable foundation for the personality. Shumate concludes: "Lucius is ultimately reduced to a compulsive and undirected absorption in the most fleeting, frivolous, and random of amusements. The ass itself is central to the reduction; what better symbol of a distractible, myopic, and intransigent soul could Apuleius have adopted?" 16 Picking up on the ass as a symbol for Seth (pre-creation chaos), Gertrude Drake points up the contrast between Seth and Isis implicit in the ass symbol: "As long as Lucius remains an ass, he is a disciple, as it were, of the god of chaos. After his submission to Isis, she commands him to eat the roses, and 'shed forthwith the hide of that utterly evil brute so long an abomination to me.'" 1 7 Another commentator, Ronald Brown, develops this contrast even further: [I]n Egyptian mythology, the ass represents not only the precreation state of chaos, but the presence of evil in the world which is exemplified in the actions of man [sic], the destructive forces of nature and the hostility of the animal kingdom. These forces will be the cause of Lucius' sufferings as an a s s . . . . Only Isis will be able to rescue Lucius, and her intervention on his behalf will, in effect, be a recapitulation of her victory over Seth at the moment of creation.18
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To sum up, whether regarded as a common folk symbol of lust, curiosity and grossness or a specifically religious symbol of an orientation completely opposed to Isis, the ass effectively symbolizes Lucius' divided state—and a deep personal crisis.19 In William James' terms, the ass symbolism might stand for an idea system which is at the centre of Lucius' consciousness, yet diametrically opposed to another idea system which also has a place in his mental life. Other than Fotis' reference to Lucius' prior initiations into the religious mysteries (Met. 3, 15,4), there is not much evidence of a positive competing idea system within Lucius. This one reference might allow us to speculate, though, that an interest in religion resides somewhere in Lucius' psyche, though in the first part of the novel religion may at best be relegated to a place in the unconscious. If Lucius' being in the body of an ass represents the divided self that James characterized as the typical pre-conversion condition, the conversion itself is associated with, and symbolized by, his return to human form. Mystical experience is often at the heart of the conversion process, and in Lucius' case that experience is located in the two powerful scenes related at the beginning of Book 11: his vision of Isis as the moon goddess and his first dream of her. The first experience prepares the way for, and leads immediately into, the second.
Lucius' Vision of Isis as the Moon Goddess Although Lucius' first vision of Isis is not technically a dream, it occurs as he wakes from sleep and may even be related to the dream state preceding it. At the opening of Book 11 he gives this account of the first vision: About the first watch of the night I was aroused by sudden panic. Looking up I saw the full orb of the Moon shining with peculiar lustre and that very moment emerging from the waves of the sea. Then the thought came to me that this was the hour of silence and loneliness when my prayers might avail. For 1 knew that the Moon was the primal Goddess of supreme sway; that all human beings are the creatures of her providence; that not only cattle and wild beasts but even inorganic objects are vitalized by the divine influence of her light; that all the bodies which are on earth, or in the heavens, or in the sea, increase when she waxes, and decline when she wanes. Considering this, therefore, and feeling that Fate was now satiated with my endless miseries and at last licensed a hope of salvation, I determined to implore the august image of the risen Goddess.20 (Met. 11,1)
As the scene opens Lucius awakens with a terror (pavore) that at first seems reminiscent of a nightmare. Interestingly, the term pavor nocturnis is still
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used to denote a type of nightmare in which one emerges from sleep with an overwhelming sense of fear, while remembering only a single frightful image.21 In Lucius' case the single image is the moon in its full force and majesty. Although initially frightened by it, Lucius tries to calm himself by reflecting on the power of the moon goddess who governs the elements of earth, sea and air; his focus shifts from the image's elemental force to a more intellectual reflection on its meaning. Lucius is especially moved by the guiding providence of the moon goddess, which sharply contrasts with fortune, who has dealt him so much trouble. Considering how the light of the goddess guides all of nature and all human affairs, he dares to hope that even his miserable imprisonment in the body of an ass may find some remedy. He shakes off his drowsiness and plunges himself in the waters near the secluded beach where he has fallen asleep. To purify himself in preparation for his prayer to the goddess, he dips his head under the waves seven times because he knows that, according to Pythagoras, seven is the number fitting for religious occasions.22 As Lucius begins his beautiful prayer, he admits his ignorance of the goddess' true identity: Ο Queen of heaven—whether thou art Ceres, the primal and bountiful mother of crops . . . or whether thou art heavenly Venus, who didst unite the difference of the sexes in the first beginnings of nature by creating Love . . . or the sister of Phoebus, who didst relieve the delivery of young ones by soothing remedies .. . or whether as Proserpine, dreaded in cries that pierce the night, repelling attacks of ghosts with thy threefold countenance . . . by whatever name or ceremony or visage it is right to address thee, help me now in the depth of my trouble.23 {Met. 11,2)
Clearly Lucius is not sure who is behind the power he experiences in the full moon. Each of the goddesses he names governs some important aspect of human existence, and he senses the need to relate to that feminine providential power in his own desperate case. Jung refers to Lucius' prayer as a definitive example of reuniting the basic archetypes after polytheism multiplied them and personified them into separate gods. In Jung's view, by bringing together these diverse aspects of the goddess, Apuleius expresses the tension of opposites at the heart of the terrifying paradox of the primordial mother image. From his many references to the Metamorphoses, Jung obviously regards its descriptions of religious experience to offer valuable illustrations of the universality of the archetypes and their role in religion. While Lucius prays to the light which aids both humanity and nature, he acknowledges that he may have lost this guiding light because he has angered
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some god or goddess: "And if some deity is angered so as to pursue me with implacable cruelty, at least allow me to die, if I am not allowed really to live" 24 {Met. 11,2). His complaint recalls Psyche's when she realizes she has angered Venus and therefore must suffer her vengeance. Lucius similarly fears that his unusually bad fortune could be due to a vindictive god and, in that case, just as with Psyche, he would rather die than live under such a cloud of divine displeasure. Both Lucius' prayer before returning to sleep and his bathing ritual indicate his hope for an answer to his dilemma. Carefully he prepares to enter the sacred space of dreams, hoping that here he might find the meaning to his life and the solace he longs for. His search reaches beyond his conscious existence into the depths of the night and the world underlying consciousness. In light of the sacred dream which follows the prayer, we are obliged to consider the possibility of dream incubation which, as we have seen, involved going to a holy place to receive healing or mantic dreams in answer to problems or illness. This practice is undoubtedly in the background as Lucius begs for an answer to his prayer and an end to his intolerable, asinine existence. While his plea does not occur in a dream temple (possibly because of his current physical limitations), two important elements of dream incubation do stand out here: (1) thoroughly examining the problem to be solved and (2) formulating the question concisely immediately before falling asleep. Lucius summarizes his plight at the end of his prayer by asking to be removed from his four-footed state and to be restored to his human form and to his loved ones.25
Lucius' First Dream of Isis As soon as he finishes his prayer, Lucius falls asleep again in the sand. Almost immediately he receives this striking dream vision: a divine figure arises from the sea and seems to stand before him. She has long, flowing hair with a crown of wreaths and flowers on her head. In the centre of the crown is a circle of light, resembling a mirror or the moon, with serpents and ears of corn on both sides. The figure wears a tunic of many colours and a beautiful cloak of deep black with gleaming stars. When Isis addresses Lucius, she describes herself in universal terms. She is the mother of all life and the mistress of all the elements; she is the mother of all the gods and all races of people. She explains that, the world over, people call her by various names—Proserpina, Ceres, Juno, Hecate; the Egyptians worship her by her true name, Queen Isis. Then Isis comforts Lucius in his desperate plight: "Behold, 1 am come to you in your calamity. I am come with solace and aid. Away then with tears. Cease to moan. Send
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sorrow packing. Soon through my providence shall the sun of your salvation arise" 26 (Met. 11, 5). Recall here Artemidorus' special class of "divine dreams" in which gods and goddesses come to the rescue of desperate people: Serapis, Isis, Anubis, and Harp ocrâtes in person as well as their statues and rites and every story that is told about them and about the gods who share their temples and altars signify disturbances, dangers, threats, and crises from which salvation will come when one's hopes and expectations have been abandoned. For these gods have always been regarded as the saviours of men who have tried every resort and who find themselves in utmost peril. On the other hand, they indicate immediate salvation for those who are already in a difficult situation.27
This passage from the Oneirocritica could have been written with Lucius' situation in mind. After the goddess consoles Lucius, she tells him how to regain his human form. She explains that on the next day, a procession in her honour marking the new navigation season will take place. Lucius is to join the procession, and press his way through the crowd until he reaches the priest carrying roses in his right hand. He should then take and eat the roses from the priest's hand. To reassure Lucius that all will go as planned, Isis explains that at the very moment she is appearing to him in this dream, she is simultaneously appearing in the priest's vision, informing him of his role in Lucius' transformation. Isis concludes her dream revelation by reminding Lucius that he must dedicate his remaining years to her service in return for the miracle of divine mercy which she promises. She will guide him not only throughout the rest of his life but even beyond death. Lucius wakes from this startling dream overwhelmed by great joy mixed with terror. He is awestruck at the directness of this divine revelation and repeats Isis' instructions to himself so that he can obey everything in exact detail. As the day breaks, the entire world seems new to Lucius. It is as if he had gone on pilgrimage to a sacred place and returned with new hope and a new outlook. No longer is his gaze fixed upon his miserable imprisonment in an ass' body. Now he turns to the outer world in its beauty and promise of life, noting that even the animals, trees, houses and weather seem to reflect his own joyful state of expectation. The cosmos which only yesterday was cold and stormy has now given way to a warm, sunny day. As William James points out, such a remarkable alteration in one's perception of the world is a key feature in religious conversions. He also observes that new beliefs and inner peace usually accompany conversion, further mirroring Lucius' situation. Lucius' new beliefs regarding the true
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name and nature of Isis, as well as the sense of tranquility that ensues from trusting her guidance, all indicate the depth of his conversion. As he searches through the throng for the rose-toting priest who will aid him in his metamorphosis, Lucius notes the tremendous variety of people taking part in the procession. Finally he locates a priest who appears exactly as Isis described him in the precognitive dream. Restraining his excitement Lucius slowly edges his way through the crowd toward the priest. He is amazed as the priest actually stops, raises his hand and holds out the bunch of roses for Lucius to eat. Everything transpires as the goddess foretold and Lucius immediately begins to change shape. The crowd is astonished at the miraculous metamorphosis they are witnessing, and they attribute it to the power of the goddess Isis. The priest has a bit more presence of mind than Lucius, who is unable to move from the place where the transformation occurred, and gestures for someone to furnish Lucius with a garment. Then the priest delivers this remarkable assessment of Lucius' life: At last, Lucius, after the long days of disaster and the heavy storms of fortune you have reached the haven of peace and the altar of mercy. Neither your high lineage, nor your pride of place, nor your learning, profited you one jot. You gave yourself to the slavery of pleasure in the lewdness of hot-blooded youth; and you have reaped the reward of your unprospering curiosity. Nevertheless, blind Fortune, persecuting you with horrors and snares, has led you in her shortsighted malice to this beatitude of release. Let her go now and rage as madly as she will; but let her seek another object for her hate. For terror and calamity have no power over him whose life the majesty of our Goddess has claimed for her service.28 {Met. 11, 15)
This speech, proclaimed at the time of Lucius' deliverance, resonates with power. That the priest recites all this information about a man he has never met before (presumably he receives it in his own vision of Isis) gives his interpretation a privileged position. As readers we are inclined to attribute a divine sanction to the priest's view of Lucius' past life and motivation, since both the priest and Isis have been involved in the miraculous metamorphosis. Thus, for the reader, it is as if the interpretation ultimately arises from Isis herself. Sociologist Peter Berger insightfully describes a process of conversion or "alternation" which involves reconstructing one's personal biography from one's present viewpoint.29 His description fits Lucius' conversion extremely well, though in Lucius' case, remarkably, this summary comes from the mysterious priest. Berger writes: "The experience of conversion to a meaning system that is capable of ordering the scattered data of one's biography is liberating and profoundly satisfying" 30 This cohesive power of con-
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version certainly applies to Lucius' new life in Isis, which now has meaning and clear purpose.31 As well, Lucius' conversion, seen in light of its cohesiveness, helps support the claim that the Metamorphoses is indeed a unified work. At the core of Lucius' conversion process, then, is the reorientation of his personality, a personality transformation representing one of James' basic varieties of religious experience, A key event within Lucius' conversion process in its larger sense is his initiation into the cult of Isis, to which we must now turn.
Initiation into the Isis Mysteries Numerous scholars have hailed Apuleius' account of Lucius' initiation as a rare and accurate glimpse into the ancient world's religious mysteries. For example, Luther Martin claims that much of what is known about initiation into the Isis mysteries derives from Apuleius' account in Book 11.32 R. Summers observes that the details of Isis worship provided in the Metamorphoses are accepted by most scholars, even those who question the factual worth of the rest of the novel,33 while Walter Burkert indicates that Book 11 provides "the most extensive mystery text we have from pagan antiquity" and "the only extant account of a mystery initiation in a first-person style."34 For E. Dodds, Book 11 is a stellar example of the personal experience underlying the mystery religions, untainted by possibly biased Christian perspectives.35 Mircea Eliade can sum up for us the value of Apuleius' account: Like the other Mysteries of the Hellenistic and Imperial periods, the Mysteries of Isis and of Serapis comprised public festivals, a daily cult, and secret rites that constituted the initiation proper. We know the principal features of the first two ceremonial systems. As for the initiation, Apuleius' testimony in book 11 of his Metamorphoses is regarded—and rightly—as the most valuable document of all ancient writings on the Mysteries.36
Isis worship was one of the most popular oriental religions from the fourth century B CE to the fourth century CE,37 and reached its peak of popularity during the second century CE,38 roughly at the time when Apuleius composed his novel. Much of its popularity might be attributed to the strong appeal of Isis as a mother goddess who is forgiving of human weakness and willing to aid those who seek her help. C. Bleeker regards Isis as the most important of all maternal goddesses in Egypt and emphasizes her role as a saviour goddess: "It would not be too much to contend, that of all Egyptian gods and goddesses she (Isis) can best claim this title of honour (saviour goddess)—indeed even to a higher degree than Osiris, however strange this may sound."39 While some of the other
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Egyptian divinities, such as Re, Ptah and Thoth, are aloof, Isis is a colourful and very human figure,40 and possesses the gifts of wisdom and magic. Isis was the great sorceress who was able to undergo any metamorphosis she desired, including transforming herself into her husband Osiris and her son Horus.41 She also possessed the "elixir of life" and resuscitated the dead Osiris.42 Jung notes that in Greco-Roman times Isis is presented both as a murderous, human-headed snake and as a healer. As such she personifies the "arcane substance" or "aqua permanens" which unites hostile elements into one 43 There is yet another facet of Isis' loving kindness and willingness to overlook human frailty: Isis was not a very austere goddess at the time she entered Italy. Identified with Venus, as Harpocrates was with Eros, she was honoured especially by the women with whom love was a profession. In Alexandria, the city of pleasure, she had lost all severity, and at Rome this good goddess remained very indulgent to human weaknesses.44
This association of Isis with love and indulgence led some to view her cult sceptically and her temples as places of doubtful reputation. Cumont believes this connection between Isis and love may have something to do with the key paradox of the Metamorphoses, namely, Apuleius' choice to describe the fervour of an lsiac initiate in the context of a lewd tale.45 As goddess of the Alexandrian harbour, Isis became the patroness of sailors and was honoured in a yearly festival, the Navigium Isidis, celebrating the opening of the new navigation season. Interestingly, this is precisely the occasion when Lucius encounters her saving power in the Metamorphoses.46 The festival not only marked the beginning of the navigation season but also served as a "missionary symbol": The initiates' procession to the sea recalled Isis's wandering to the shores of Byblus in search for Osiris; simultaneously, it recalled Isis searching the Nile for her dismembered consort. As such, the procession ritualized human wandering over the 44sea of life" and anticipated the fall Festival of Search and Discovery. . . . The launching of the ship of Isis was not only the celebration of renewed navigation but also a missionary symbol. Not bound like Demeter to a specific locale, Isis reached out to the periphery of the Hellenistic world on the life-giving waters of the Nile, which flowed into and transformed the Mediterranean world.47
This symbolism is preserved in Apuleius' novel, says Luther Martin, because it highlights the theme of grievous wandering and joyous discovery which parallels its overall structure.48 Lucius' attachment to this many-sided goddess begins with his dream experience, an encounter which leads Lucius to a deepening relationship which culminates in ritual initiation into her cult.
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Lucius' Initiation Lucius' initiation is preceded by a period of waiting after he has regained his human form. During this time he remains at the temple and prays to Isis for guidance. The high priest explains that Lucius must receive a direct sign from the goddess before he can be initiated and that Isis herself chooses the officiating priest for the ceremony. During this waiting period Lucius abstains from forbidden foods and strives to maintain silence and serenity while performing his tasks. Finally, when he is sleeping, the invitation from the goddess arrives: She appeared and told me that the day of my desire had arrived, the day which would fulfil my dearest wishes. She also stated the sum of money to be spent on the ceremonial, and appointed the high priest Mithras to preside over my initiation; for (she said) he and I had our destinies mingled by a conjunction of our stars.49 (Met. 11,22)
Lucius is thrilled that she has finally called him to the initiation he has longed for since her first appearance and her promise of liberation. He rushes to the high priest, Mithras, even though morning is just breaking. But before Lucius can tell him of his long-awaited dream, the priest congratulates him on being selected by the goddess for such a great honour. He goes on to announce that on account of the divine mandate he has received (presumably in a dream that same night), he himself will perform the sacred rites. Then Mithras leads Lucius to the temple and begins to prepare him for the ceremony. Lucius marvels at the sacred book the priest shows him with its unknown script decorated with, and partially concealed by, animals painted on the page. Later he bathes himself and is then bathed by Mithras, who also sprinkles him with pure water. Subsequently, they return to the temple, and Mithras instructs him to take neither meat nor wine during the next ten days. When his fast is over, Lucius is ready for the initiation. On the day of the ceremony many people bring gifts in his honour. The uninitiated withdraw when the priest leads Lucius into the inner sanctum where the sacred rite takes place. In retelling this event, Lucius explains that while he must not reveal exactly what occurred there, he can give a general description: "I approached the confines of death. I trod the threshold of Prosperine; and borne through the elements I returned. At midnight I saw the Sun shining in all his glory. I approached the gods below and the gods above, and I stood beside them, and I worshipped them" 50 (Met. 11, 22) He continues by explaining he must limit his description to basic facts, so as not to reveal forbidden secrets to the uninitiated. Yet the symbolism of what he describes is powerful and very suggestive. Wearing a linen vestment
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covering his body from the shoulders to the ankles, he climbs a wooden pulpit which stands in the middle of the temple facing an image of Isis. Embroidered on his vestment are flowers and animals from myths and exotic places, lie holds a lighted torch in his right hand and around his head is a chaplet from which palm leaves protrude, resembling the rays of the sun. At several places in his collected works Jung refers to this famous passage where, following a symbolic death, Lucius is crowned as the sun. Jung regards the symbolism of this culmination of the Isis mystery as a classical instance of ritual transformation in which the initiate identifies with the god. He also sees it as a forerunner of the solificatio in medieval alchemy.51 Jung notes that, contrary to the age-old belief that a human being can become a god after death, the mystery cults believe they can effect deification in this world.52 The realization that a person can become identified with the divine, or carry a god within, is the essence of the "religious relationship," as Jung calls it: "To carry a god around in yourself means a great deal; it is a guarantee of happiness, of power, and even of omnipotence, in so far as these are attributes of divinity. To carry a god within oneself is practically the same as being God oneself." 53 While Jung is acutely aware of the potential danger of "psychological inflation" of such a divine-human connection, he highly regards the meaning such a relationship can give. In fact he believes that his own analytical psychology parallels the ancient attempt to bring divinity to the soul, as expressed in the Isis mysteries.54 While agreeing with Jung's assessment of the fundamental meaning of initiation into the mystery religions, C. Bleeker focuses more on the elements of knowledge (or "esoteric wisdom") and immortality.55 Like Jung, Bleeker recognizes that immortality is brought about through a divinization or deification of the initiate.56 A more detailed description of this process is offered by Franz Cumont: Through the initiation the mystic was bom again, but to a superhuman life, and became the equal of the immortals. In his ecstasy he imagined that he was crossing the threshold of death and contemplating the gods of heaven and hell face to face. If he had accurately followed the prescriptions imposed upon him by Isis and Serapis through their priests, those gods prolonged his life after his decease beyond the duration assigned to it by destiny, and he participated eternally in their beatitude and offered them his homage in their return.57
Also relevant here is a comment by Plutarch on how the Isis mysteries seem to invite personal identification because of their emphasis on Isis' own struggles:
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The sister and wife of Osiris, however, as his helper quenched and stopped Typhon's mad frenzy, nor did she allow the contests and struggles which she had undertaken, her wanderings and her many deeds of wisdom and bravery, to be engulfed in oblivion and silence, but into the most sacred rites she infused images, suggestions and representations of her experiences at that time, and so she consccratcd at once a pattern of piety and an encouragement to men and women overtaken by similar misfortunes.58
This description is quite apt for Lucius' relationship to Isis, both in his desperate pre-conversion situation and in his transformed existence later. Even more than Jung, Mircea Eliade stresses mystical identification between the initiate and the god as the defining feature of initiation in the mystery religions. Eliade emphasizes the immediacy of this identification and contrasts it to the way divinization was conceived in the original Egyptian view: [I]η ancient Egypt the individual hoped for a posthumous identification with Osiris. But by virtue of his initiation the neophyte obtained, here and now on earth, this mystical identification with the god; in other words, it was the living individual who was "divinized," not the soul in its post-mortem condition. Just as Osiris was "reanimated" by Isis, the neophyte's "divinization" was essentially the work of the goddess. We do not know the "existential situation" of the mystes; it is certain, however, that no initiate doubted his privileged lot, in the presence of the gods, after death. If, so far as the initiation proper is concerned, we are reduced to conjectures, what Apuleius tells us allows us to perceive the syncretistic structures of the new cult.59
The syncretistic aspect which Eliade alludes to is the combination of spiritual identification and descent through the four cosmic elements. According to Eliade, the ritual identification with the god is a typically Egyptian element, while the descent to Hades through the four elements is Hellenistic in origin. The images of the passage through the elements and the descent to Hades both dramatize the death and rebirth of a novice such as Lucius. Passing through the cosmic elements symbolizes the initiate's decomposition and subsequent reconstitution into a new individual.60 Regarding the purification symbolism involved in this process, S. Eitrem stresses that, through sin, the elements composing a human being are made impure. When the initiate is decomposed into the separate elements and then reconstituted, s/he relinquishes any connection with sin associated with the previous constitution and is recomposed of renewed or purified elements. Consequently, the reconstituted soul of the initiate is considered pure.61 The other basic component of Lucius' initiation is his descent to the underworld. The symbolic meaning behind this ritual seems to be a metaphori-
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cal conquering of death. Psychologically, fear of death is overcome by anticipating it, participating in it voluntarily through ritual and thereby removing its looming power as the final word about human existence. As Eliade puts it: We are now in a position to understand why the same initiatory schema—consisting of suffering, death and resurrection—appears in all the mysteries, both in the rites of puberty and in those of entry into a secret society; and why the same scenario can be traced in the shattering personal experiences which precede the mystic vocation. . . . [T]he man of the archaic societies strove to conquer death by according it such an importance that, in the final reckoning, death ceased to present itself as a cessation and became a rite of passage.62
The mystery religions, including the cult of Isis, incorporate a symbolic death as the necessary prelude to new life in the divine. Joseph Campbell cites the Eros and Psyche tale as one of the best-known stories of the miraculous tests and ordeals typically associated with initiation. He views initiation in its most general sense as a crucial stage in the human life cycle as a voyage to the underworld, a judgment that parallels Apuleius' description of Lucius' initiation into the Isis mysteries.63 Richard Hooper argues that Apuleius had Lucius undergo three initiations to emphasize the parallels between Lucius' story and Psyche's. Just as Lucius did, Psyche underwent three initiations (not counting her journey to the underworld, a core element of all religious initiation). As we saw earlier, commentators such as Merkelbach and Kerenyi contend that the Greek novels are generally literary formulations of mystery rituals and are really meant for those who have already been initiated into the mysteries; the misadventures, trials, escapes, resolution and lovers' reunion in the novels correspond to elements in the mystery ceremonies. The unmistakable resemblances between these novels and the mystery ritual, says B. Reardon, are because both are fundamental metaphors for human life, especially the religious elements at the depths of life. If this is so, Lucius' assertion that he cannot reveal the hidden mysteries is ironic, for both his story and the Eros and Psyche myth at least seem to run parallel to the basic truths of the religious mysteries.
Initiation as Mystical Experience The connection between Lucius' initiation and his mystical experience is not hard to see.64 Direct experience of the divine is a central part of Lucius' initiation into the Isis mysteries and is evident in his religious dream experiences even prior to the initiation proper. Again William James helps us get a better grasp of mysticism as it applies here.
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According to James, an experience is mystical when it reveals (1) ineffability, (2) noetic quality, (3) transiency and (4) passivity. Ineffability means that it so defies expression that an adequate report of its contents cannot be given. This reflects the directness of the experience, making it more akin to states of feeling and sensation than to intellect. Noetic quality indicates that even though such experiences cannot be adequately expressed, they are still illuminations or insights into the depths of truth. Transiency refers to the limited time during which such states occur, usually not more than a half hour. Passivity means that for the duration of a mystical experience, the person's will seems held in abeyance and he or she feels grasped by a superior power. In regard to Lucius' initiation ceremony, it is hard to apply all of James' criteria. The secrecy surrounding the mysteries prevents us from determining the degree to which the initiation was ineffable. We do know that they dealt essentially with a spiritual change involving a symbolic death and rebirth. While one can attempt to describe such profound transformations, ultimately the experience itself defies a complete description by the discursive intellect. Nevertheless, there is definitely a noetic character to the initiation since, through it, the initiate learns truths about the nature of human transformation and its symbolic pattern of death and rebirth, as expressed in the story of Isis. The transiency of initiation is apparent in the delimited nature of the process, particularly the core identification with the god in ritual death and rebirth. That the initiation is passive is demonstrated somewhat by the fact that the neophyte must be called by the goddess. While one can prepare oneself to receive such a call—as Lucius did—in the end, the divine must take the initiative. Not only does Lucius have to wait for the invitation from Isis, but the priest who officiates at the initiation must also await the goddess' instructions. At the heart of Lucius' mysticism lies his passionate desire for union with the goddess. Commentator Gerald Sandy speaks of the "psychology of mysticism" exemplified by the central place religious awe holds in Lucius' personality throughout the Metamorphoses.65 Lucius' spiritual desire for union with Isis through initiation does not essentially differ from his earlier desire for involvement in magic: "His [Lucius'] burning cupido to observe the mysteries of witchcraft is in its own way as unsensual and spiritual as the voluptas that he feels in contemplation of Isis' image."66 Sandy maintains that this element of strong desire, or "mystical zeal," remains a constant in the novel (and helps unify it).67 Lucius' contemplative adoration of the goddess is a primary expression of his passionate desire for her. Festugière calls this "the most characteristic feature" in Lucius' devotion to Isis and points out that such contemplative prayer was somewhat peculiar for the pagan world of the Hellenistic age.68 P. Walsh maintains on the contrary that Lucius'
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delight in contemplation was not so unusual among pagan religions and suggests that Apuleius' strong emphasis on it stems from the example of Christian mysticism.69 Regardless of its source, Apuleius' description of Lucius' religious contemplation is powerful and moving. Even before Lucius is initiated, his heart is captured by the image of the goddess: "But my emotions would not allow me to stir a single inch away from the place. With my eyes fixed upon the image I brooded over my past miseries" 70 {Met. 11, 17). After he is joyfully reunited with relatives and friends, Lucius still returns to his "chief source of delight: the contemplation of the goddess" {Met. 11, 19). He even rents a small living space within the temple precinct so that he can worship constantly at her shrine. During this period, not a single night passed without his receiving a vision of Isis in his dreams. After Lucius' initiation, his contemplative devotion to Isis deepens: "Lingering about the temple for several more days, I was granted the delight of viewing the Holy Face: a benefit that no grateful services can ever repay" 71 {Met. 11, 24), Only when Isis herself admonishes him to return home can he tear himself away. Even then he does so with the greatest difficulty: "But I could hardly bear to break the ties of intense affection that bound me to the place. Prostrating myself before the Goddess and watering her feet with my tears, I addressed her, gulping back the sobs that disturbed my articulation"72 {Met. 11, 24). Such a convincing portrait of spiritual devotion persuades Festugière that Apuleius could only have painted it with such warmth and truthfulness if Apuleius himself knew that spiritual condition from personal experience.73 The importance of this picture, then, is that it demonstrates a deep personal love for the divine that is so prominent in the mystery religions: Recalling this attitude on the part of the early generations of Christians, and making all the appropriate distinctions, we come to understand better the exaltation of Lucius. He felt himself loved. He loved in return. It was because of these things that he found in the contemplation of his Goddess an ineffable joy. 74
Apuleius' moving passages of ardent spirituality give good reason for stressing the vital role emotion plays in the mystical experience offered by mystery religions. The whole ritual of these mysteries aimed at "quickening the emotional life," as S. Angus says, and gave the initiate's psychic life an almost supernatural intensity.75 This observation helps explain why Jung was so intrigued by the religious experience recorded in the Metamorphoses. For him, the very essence of life-giving religion is mystical—mysticism being direct experience of the archetypes with their core of intense affect. This
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emotional aspect of religion shines through both the initiations and the dream experiences described in the novel.
Lucius' Dreams as Religious Experience Our study of the religious experiences in the Metamorphoses has focused so far on Lucius' conversion and initiation, in both of which dreams play a central role by precipitating his conversion and calling him to initiation. But Lucius' dreams are themselves religious experiences. When we apply William James' criteria, Lucius' dreams clearly qualify as mystical experience. They have an ineffable quality in carrying forth the contemplative adoration of his waking life (Met. 11, 19). As Lucius describes it, every night he is graced with visions of the goddess. The transient character of these dreams is determined by the relatively short duration of the dream period itself.76 Their passive character is evidenced by the fact that Lucius does not conjure up the goddess, but awaits her visit and her message. While the dream incubation process might suggest a certain active invitation of divine dreams, in James' view such preparation does not cause or control the mystical experience itself but merely creates a readiness on the receptive mystic's part. Finally, Lucius' dream experience manifests a definite noetic quality as Isis communicates to him truths about her nature and her intentions for him. We must pause here, however, to consider an opposing view of divine dreams in the ancient world. E. Dodds, for instance, recognizes that there is much inscriptionai evidence for god-sent dreams but tends to dismiss them as simply a reflection of a cultural pattern. As he puts it, "their form is determined by the belief, and in turn confirms it."77 Dodds echoes anthropologist E. Tylor's opinion on the circularity of this phenomenon, namely, that the dreamer sees what s/he believes and believes what s/h sees.78 In regard to Aristides' divine dreams, Dodds is particularly sceptical, claiming that "there is little to be said for a system which placed the patient at the mercy of his own unconscious impulses, disguised as divine monitions."79 Despite Dodds' conclusions, based largely on orthodox psychoanalytic presuppositions, note that even the larger psychoanalytic tradition of selfpsychology offers some positive evaluations of divine dreams. Indeed, many psychoanalysts consider them healthy manifestations of the psyche. For example, Heinz Kohut points out that [p]rophetic dreams and even hallucinatory experiences during waking hours could occur in individuals who are clearly not psychotic. I concluded that the ability to create, in extreme situations, the fantasy of being supported by a god-
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like omnipotent figure should be evaluated as belonging to the assets of a healthy psychological organization.80
He goes further in positively assessing these "dreams from above," asserting that they may communicate a wisdom not reducible to, or even completely dependent upon, unconscious material: The contributions from the unconscious... do not determine the dream, and their uncovering would not give us the dream's essential meaning. It follows that we are, in such instances, not dependent on the free associations of the dreamer but can trust the dreamer's, generally unambiguously given, own explanation.81
This position is a remarkable departure from standard psychoanalytic perspectives. Kohut even accepts the dreamer's own understanding of the manifest dream without reference to latent dream content. His approach recalls Jung's method, which focuses on the manifest dream's structure and details and avoids any process of free association which might lead away from its content. Relatively late in his career, Jung adopted a respectful attitude towards religious phenomena in dreams which resembles William James' approach.82 From this phenomenological perspective, the focus is less on uncovering the inner essence of a religious dream experience but more on trying to determine what the experience means to the person who has it. Jung's approach thus takes Lucius' divine dreams seriously rather than dismissing them as wishes, emotions or illusions. Jung the clinician recognizes the importance of religious ideas and symbols for a person's psyche, whether or not such ideas correspond with realities in the world beyond that person; Jung the scientist realizes that he cannot determine conclusively whether religious ideas correspond with the actual realities symbolized. Jung was fascinated by the mystical insight at the heart of the Metamorphoses, namely, that the human being can become divinized or at least can become identified with the divine. While he does not dwell specifically on the role of dreams in the religious experience in Apuleius' novel, his comments speak to us of Lucius' dreamworld: "We are so captivated by and entangled in our subjective consciousness that we have simply forgotten the age-old fact that God speaks chiefly through dreams and visions."83 Jung clearly formulates the relationship between the subjective experience of the divine or the God archetype and the objective realities symbolized in such experience: It is only through the psyche that we can establish that God acts upon us, but we are unable to distinguish whether these actions emanate from God or from the unconscious. We cannot tell whether God and the unconscious are two dif-
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ferent entities. . . . It does not seem improbable that the archetype of wholeness occupies as such a central position which approximates it to the God-image. The similarity is further borne out by the peculiar fact that the archetype produces a symbolism which has always characterized and expressed the Deity. . . . Strictly speaking, the God-image does not coincide with the unconscious as such, but with a special content of it, namely the archetype of the self. It is this archetype from which we can no longer distinguish the God-image empirically.84
From this vantage point, Jung would accept the possibility that Lucius is truly in contact with the divine through his dreams, but would not say conclusively whether the divine experienced by Lucius has an objective existence outside of the psyche. After this detour, we must return to James' varieties of religious experience only to apply one more category of his to Lucius' dreams, namely, the "reality of the unseen." James believes this variety reflects the essence of the religious attitude: Were one asked to characterize the life of religion in the broadest and most general terms possible, one might say that it consists of the belief that there is an unseen order, and that our supreme good lies in harmoniously adjusting ourselves thereto. This belief and this adjustment are the religious attitude in the soul. 85
James' descriptions of experiences from this category often convey a sense of a deeper layer of reality which underlies the everyday world. As Lucius enters his relationship with Isis, he attends constantly to experiences of the dreamworld as another, deeper, reality. What is in view here is not so much a specific, dramatic experience of the divine but a continual communication link with an underlying reality. If, as Festugière emphasizes, the mark of Lucius' spirituality is his experience of being loved and cared for by a divine being, then certainly the primary vehicle for this intimate relationship is the dream.
Notes 1 2 3 4 5
The Isis Book, Metamorphoses 11, translated by J. Griffiths, p. 51. A. Festugière, Personal Religion Among the Greeks and Romans, pp. 72, 76. L. Johnson, The Writings of the New Testament, p. 32. F. Cumont, The Oriental Religions in Roman Paganism, p. 27. N. Shumate, "The Augustinian Pursuit of False Values as a Conversion Motif in Apuleius' Metamorphoses," Phoenix 42 (1988): 37. 6 W. James, The Varieties of Religious Experience, p. 42. 7 James' method is set out in The Varieties of Religious Experience, where he examines a whole spectrum of religious experiences drawn from historical records, biographical and autobiographical sources, interviews and even friends. 8 Ibid., p. 162.
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9 Ibid., p. 171. 10 The Golden Ass by Apuleius, translated by J. Lindsay, p. 81. 11 This obsessive quality of Lucius' interest in magic appears to be part of what Jung
refers to (along with the Stoics) as "compulsion by the stars," a condition in which the psychological energy in the "unredeemed" soul remains fixed in its
12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19
20
21
22 23
24
most primitive form and keeps the person at a low level of existence. Such people have no control over themselves and are completely at the mercy of their affects. Jung says this is the psychological situation of late antiquity and, referring to the Metamorphoses, states that it was the purpose of the mystery religions to overcome such a condition (Symbols of Transformation, in CW, vol. 5, pp. 67, 415). Christopher Gill regards Lucius' conversion as a "religious cure" (see "Ancient Psychotherapy," Journal of the History of Ideas 46 [1985]: 307-25). The Golden Ass by Apuleius. translated by Lindsay, p. 249. C. Jung, ed., Man and His Symbols, p. 147. J. Tatum, Apuleius and The Golden Ass, p. 45. Ibid., p. 30. Shumate, "The Augustinian Pursuit of False Values," p. 42. G. Drake, "Lucius's Business in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius," PLL 5 (1969): 346. R. Brown, "The Tales in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius—A Study in Religious Consciousness" (Ph.D. diss., Florida State University, 1977), pp. 164-65. Jung notes a more positive aspect of the ass symbol, which he finds related to alchemical symbolism. He refers to the alchemists' statements about the king changing into his animal nature as a source of renewal (Mysterium Coniunctionis, in CW, vol. 14, p. 297). GA, p. 235: "Circa primam ferme noctis vigiliam, experrectus pavore subito, video praemicantis lunae candore nimio completum orbem commodum marinis emergentem fluctibus, nanctusque opacae noctis silentiosa secreta, certus etiarn summatem deam praecipua maiestate poliere resque prorsus human as ipsius regi Providentia, nec tantum pecuina et ferma, verum inanima etiam divino eius luminis numinisque nutu vegetari, ipsa etiam corpora terra caelo marique nunc incrementis consequenter augeri, nunc detnmentis obsequenter imminui, fato scilicet iam meis tot tantisque cladibus satiato et spem salutis, licet tardam, subministrante, augustum specimen deae praesentis statui deprecari" (GAA, p. 538). Rudolf Otto's description of the "numinous" (that which expresses the divine) is pertinent here: the numinous is a combination of the awe-inspiring and fascinating (mysterium tremens et fascinans) and represents that which attracts at the same time as it inspires fear (The Idea of the Holy). GAA, p. 538: Septiesque submerso fluctibus capite, quod eum η u me rum praecipue religionibus aptissimum divinus ille Pythagoras prodidit (Met. 11, 1, 16-19). IB, pp. 71, 73: "Regina caeli, sive tu Ceres alma frugum parens originalis . . . seu tu caelestis Venus, quae primis rerum exordiis sexuum diversitatem generato amore sociasti... seu Phoebi soror, quae partu fetarum medelis lenientibus... seu nocturnis ululatibus horrenda Proserpina tnformi facie larvales impetus comprimens .. . quoquo nomine, quoquo ritu, quaqua facie te fas est invocare: tu meis iam nunc extremis aerumnis subsiste" (GAA, p. 540). IB, p. 73: . . ac si quod offensum numen inexorabili me saevitia premit, mori saltern liceat, si non licet vivere" GAA, p. 542).
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25 GAA, p. 542: "Depelle quadripedis diram faeiem, redde me conspeetui meorum, rcdde me meo Lucio" (Met. 11, 2). 26 GA, p. 238: "Adsum tuos miserata casus, adsum favens et propitia. Mitte iam Αεί us et lamentationes omitte, depeile maerorem: iam tibi Providentia mea illucescit dies salutaris" (GAA, p. 546). 27 Artemidorus, Oneirocritica, Bk. 2, 123. 28 GA, p. 243: "Multis et variis exanclatis laboribus magnisque Fortunae lempestatibus et maximis actus procellis ad portum quietis et aram misericordiae tandem, Luci, venisti: nec tibi natales ac ne dignitas quidem, vel ipsa qua flores usquam doctrina profuit, sed lubrico virentis aetatulae ad serviles delapsus voluptates, curiositatis improsperae si ni strum praemium reportasti. Sed utcumque Fortunae caecitas, dum te pessimis periculis discruciat, ad religiosam istam beatitudinem improvida produxit malitia. Eat nunc et summo furore saeviat, et crudelitati suae materiem quaerat aliam: nam in eos quorum sibi vitas in servitium deae nostrae maiestas vindicavit, non habet locum casus infestus" (GAA, p. 562). 29 P. Berger, Invitation to Sociology: A Humanistic Perspective, pp. 51-65. 30 Ibid., p. 63. 31 John Winkler does not consider this official lsiac interpretation of Lucius' life and conversion to be unambiguous. He contrasts the priest's judgment with (1) the lsiac crowd, who wrongly assume that Lucius merited the miraculous transformation by his innocence, and (2) Lucius' own silence on the matter. This is consistent with his view that Apuleius presents a value-free, though convincing, description of what a thoroughgoing conversion might look like, without necessarily endorsing such a religious experience. 32 L. Martin, Hellenistic Religions, p. 80. 33 R. Summers, "Apuleius' Juridicus," Historia 21 (1972): 120. 34 W. Burkert, Ancient Mystery Cults, pp. 6 and 17. 35 E. Dodds, Pagan and Christian in an Age of Anxiety, pp. 2-3. 36 M. Eliade, Λ History of Religious Ideas, vol. 2, p. 291. 37 Ibid., p. 36. 38 S. Heyob, The Cult of Isis Among Women in the Graeco-Roman World, p. 36. 39 C. Bleeker, "Isis as Saviour Goddess," in The Saviour God, edited by S. Brandon, p.l. 40 Ibid. p. 2. 41 R. Witt, "Isis-Hellas," PCPS 192 (1966): 49. 42 Ibid., p. 49. 43 Jung, Mysterium Coniunctionis, pp. 18-20. 44 Cumont, The Oriental Religions in Roman Paganism, p. 90. 45 Ibid., p. 91. 46 Bleeker, "Isis as Saviour Goddess," p. 10. 47 Martin, Hellenistic Religions, p. 78. 48 Ibid., p. 77. 49 GA, p. 248: "Monuit advenisse diem mihi semper optabilem, quo me maximi voti compertiret, quantoque sumptu deberem procurare supplicamentis; ipsumque Mithram ilium suum sacerdotem praecipuum, divino quodam stellarum consortio, ut aiebat, mihi coniunctum, sacrorum ministrum decernit" (GAA, p. 576).
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50 GA, p. 249; "Accessi confinium mortis et calcato Proserpinae limine per omnia vectus elementa remeavi; nocte media vidi sol em candido coruscantem lumine; deos inferos et deos superos accessi coram et adoravi de proxumo" (GAA, p. 580). 51 C. Jung, Psychology and Alchemy, in CW, vol. 12, p. 57. Solificatio refers to the crowning of the initiand as Helios, the sun god, which Jung believes symbolizes enlightenment and human wholeness. 52 Jung, Symbols of Transformation, p. 87.
53 Ibid.» pp. 86-87. 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63
64
65 66
67
68 69 70 71 72
€ . Jung, Psychology and Religion: West and East, in CW, vol. 11, pp. 514-15. Bleeker, "Isis as Saviour Goddess," p. 12. Ibid., p. 14. Cumont, The Oriental Religions in Roman Paganism, p. 100. Plutarch, De Iside et Osiride, translated by J. Griffiths, ch. 27, p. 159. Eliade, A History of Religious Ideas, vol. 2, p. 293. A. Van Gennep, The Rites of Passage, pp. 91-92. S. Eitrem, "Die Vier Elemente in der Mysterien weihe," Symbolae Osloenses 4 (1926): 52-55. M. Eliade, Myths, Dreamst and Mysteries, p. 226. M. Harding adds that initiation also serves as a guide to the traveller in the Other World (see Women 's Mysteries: A Psychological interpretation of the Feminine Principle as Portrayed in Myth, Story, and Dreams, p. 176). The term mysticism has its origins in the Greek mysteries and is derived from the word mystes, someone initiated into the religious mysteries. The term mysticism as generally used now goes beyond the bounds of mystery religions and refers to any direct experience of the divine or communion with ultimate reality. G. Sandy, "Serviles Voluptates in Apuleius' Metamorphoses" Phoenix 28 (1974): 239. Ibid., p. 240. V. Schmidt calls Lucius' experiment in magic a "perverted initiation" (pervertierten Einweihung) into the false mysteries and contrasts it to his initiation into the true mysteries of Isis ("Apuleius Metamorphoses III. 15 F: Die Einweihung in die falschen Mysterien," Mnemosyne 35 11982]: 282). James Tatum speaks of Lucius' attachment to magic as "a bastardized version of the religious experience he will undergo in Book 11" (Apuleius and The Golden Ass, p. 43). Franz Cumont places these observations in their larger context, stating that magic was religious in origin and always remained a bastard sister of religion (The Oriental Religions in Roman Paganism, p. 185). Ronald Brown regards the development of Lucius' religious consciousness as a movement away from magic and toward genuine religious experience ("The Tales in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius"). Festugière, Personal Religion Among the Greeks and Romans, pp. 80, 82-83. P. Walsh, "Lucius Madaurensis," Phoenix 26 (1968): 155. GA, p. 245: "Nec tamen me sinebat animus ungue latius mdidem digredi, sed intentus in deae specimen pristinos casus meos recordabar" (GAA, p. 568). GA, p. 250: "Paucis dehinc ibidem commoratus diebus inexplicabili voluptate simulacri divini perfruebar, irremunerabili quippe beneficio pigneratus" (GAA, p. 582). GA, p. 250: "Provolutus denique ante conspectum deae et facie mea diu detersis vestigiis eius, lacrimis obortis, singultu crebro sermonem interficiens et verba devorans, aio" (GAA, p. 252).
152 73 74 75 76
77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85
The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius'Metamorpho\<ν
Festugière, Personal Religion Among the Greeks and Romans, p. 84. Ibid., p. 84. S. Angus, The Mystery Religions, p. 61. As modern dream research has shown, the length of REM (rapid eye movement) dreams range from a few minutes to roughly three quarters of an hour for the longer morning dreams. Dodds, The Greeks and the Irrational, p. 112. Ibid., pp. 112-13. Ibid., p. 116. H. Kohut, The Restoration of the Self, p. 46. H. Kohut, Self Psychology and the Humanities: Reflections on a New Psychoanalytical Approach, p. 21. James Heisig traces this stage of Jung's thought to the last period in his life, from 1945 to 1961 (Imago Dei: Jung's Psychology of Religion, pp. 31-43). C. Jung, "Symbols and the Interpretation of Dreams," in CW, vol. 18, p. 262. C. Jung, Answer to Job, in CW, vol. 11, pp. 468-69. James, The Varieties of Religious Experience, p. 58.
Conclusion
Who is such a stranger to human experience as not to have perceived some truth in dreams? — Tertullian
D
reams pervade almost every book of the Metamorphoses, and this study has sought to show their surpassing importance in the whole novel. Dreams and dreaming, we have argued, constitute a contextual genre or hermeneutical perspective for resolving the striking contradictions which so frequently baffle readers of the novel, where, as often happens in "real" dreams, comic and bizarre stories express deeper meaning and even religious truth. By regarding the dream as a relevant literary genre we free the Metamorphoses from conforming to the logic and demands of waking consciousness. In the process we considered the distinctive character of literary dreams and their relation to the Metamorphoses, noting also that the novel reflects diverse ideas about non-literary dreams prevalent in the second century CE. By exploring the dreams presented there in light of the potential dimensions of dreams, we found that Apuleius includes virtually every major aspect of dream reference, a finding that supports Harry Hunt's conclusions about the richness of the ancient dreamworld as opposed to modern tendencies to reduce such dreams to a single dimension.1 Dreams perform various functions in the novel. We saw how they set the novel's uncanny tone by raising questions about the interrelationship of dreams, magic and reality. This is especially manifest in the way witches and dreams intrude into the stories of Aristomenes and Thelyphron. Dreams foreshadow Tlepolemus' death and, after he dies, reunite him with Charité to reveal the treacherous events surrounding his untimely end. This ability of dreams to access hidden knowledge is also evident in the story about the baker's daughter. A good part of our study focused on the heart of this novel, the Eros and Psyche myth/dream, in relation to the world of dreams. There we noted that both Freudians and Jungians have illuminated the myth's psychological implications but they have generally neglected its specific literary context. In contrast, literary scholars have recently stressed the parallels between the myth and its frame narrative about Lucius. We took our clue from von Franz's
Note to the Conclusion is on p. 154.
153
154
The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius'Metamorpho\<ν
suggestion that the myth be understood as a pivotal archetypal dream and employed the contributions of both psychological and literary commentators. As is often true of such significant dreams, the Eros and Psyche tale, we observed, reflects both current and long-term issues in Lucius' personality. By applying the elements of dream analysis to this core myth, we confirmed the value of von Franz' hypothesis. This approach to the Eros and Psyche myth/dream deepens the novel's meaning by symbolically summarizing Lucius' experience as an ass and anticipating his conversion and union with Isis. Our examination of Lucius' conversion and initiation revealed an authentic, deeply felt portrait of religious experience in the ancient world, seen through Apuleius' eyes. William James' phenomenological method provided insight into some of the dynamics of experiences described in the Metamorphoses. Once again we were confronted with the crucial role dreams play in the novel, figuring directly in both Lucius' conversion and initiation. Lucius' dreams qualify as religious experiences in their own right, being the principal vehicle for communication with the divine. The perspective of Carl Jung also bolstered our argument that the novel's dreamworld is religious in nature. Jung's theory about the dynamics of, and importance of, a religious attitude in healthy psychological functioning helped us grasp more completely Lucius' dreams, conversion and initiation. For Jung, religion at its best is essentially an attitude of attention to the divine as it manifests itself in life and dreams, a view which finds powerful expression in the story of Lucius' transformation. This study has sought to show how crucial the second-century dreamworld is for understanding Apuleius' Metamorphoses. The pervasiveness of the dream motif is seen in the way dreams enter into almost every book of the novel, in the variety of functions dreams serve in it and in the comprehensive portrait of dream dimensions illustrated. The dreamers of antiquity, as we have seen, did not prematurely foreclose the possibilities contained in their dreams. The Metamorphoses convincingly captures this ancient respect for dreams and their capacity to provide direct religious experience. While we modern dreamers would not likely want to return to the all-pervasive influence of dreams expressed in Apuleius' novel, we may, by contemplating its religious dreamworld, come to appreciate more fully the spiritual potential and untapped possibilities latent in our own.
Note 1 H. Hunt, The Multiplicity of Dreams, p. 89.
Selected Bibliography
Primary Sources Editions and Translations Adlington, W., trans. The Golden Αλλ of Apuleius. Introduction by C. Whibley. London, 1893. Beaujeu, J., trans. Apulée. Opuscules Philosophiques et Fragments. Paris, 1973. Bétolaud, V., trans. Les Métamorphoses ou l'âne d'or. Pans, 1883. Butler, H,, trans. The Metamorphoses or Golden Ass of Apuleius of Madaura. 2 vols. Oxford, 1910. Gaselee, S., ed. Apuleius, The Golden Ass. With an English translation by W. Adlington. London, 1915. Graves, R., trans. The Golden Ass. Harmondsworth, England, 1986. Griffiths, J., trans. The Isis Book Metamorphoses 77, Leiden, 1975. Grimai, P., trans. Apulei Metamorphoses IV,28-VI,24: Le Conte d'Amour et Psyché. Paris, 1963. Hanson, J., trans, and ed. Apuleius' Metamorphoses. 2 vols. Cambridge, MA, 1989. Helm, R., ed. Apuleii Opera Quae Supersunt. Vol, 1: Metamorphoseon Libri XL Leipzig, 1931. Hildebrand, G., ed. Apuleii Opera Omnia. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1842. Lindsay, J., trans. The Golden Ass by Apuleius. Bloomington, IN, 1962. Médan, P., ed. Apulée Métamorphoses. Livre XL Paris, 1925. Robertson, D., ed. Apulée. Les Métamorphoses. 3 vols. Translated by P. Vallette. Paris, 1940-45. Taylor, T., trans. The Fable of Cupid and Psyche. Los Angeles, 1977. Vallette, P., ed. and trans. Apulée. Apologie, Florides. Paris, 1924. Walsh, P., trans. Apuleius. The Golden Ass. With an introduction and explanatory notes. Oxford, 1994.
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13-22. Wey man, C. "Studien zu Apuleius und seinen Nachahmern." Sitzungsberichte der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu München (1893): 321-92. Whitmont, E. "Reassessing Femininity and Masculinity: A Critique of Some Traditional Assumptions." Quadrant 13, 2 (1980); 109-22, Winkler, J. Auctor and Actor: A Narratological Reading of Apuleius' Golden Ass. Berkeley, 1985. Winterstein, A. "Die Pubertätsriten der Mädchen und ihre Spuren im Märchen." Imago 14(1928): 199-274. Witt, R. "Isis-Hellas." PCPS 192 (1966): 48-69. Isis in the Graeco-Roman World. London, 1971. Wlosok, A. "Zur Einheit der Metamorphosen des Apuleius." Philologus 113 (1969): 68-84. . "Amor and Cupid." HSCP 79(1975): 165-80. Woods, R., and H. Greenhouse, eds. The New World of Dreams. New York, 1974. Wright, C. "No Art at All: A Note on the Proemium of Apuleius' Metamorphoses." Classical Philology 68: (1973) 217-19. Wright, J. "Folk Tale and Literary Technique in the Tale of Cupid and Psyche." Classical Quarterly 21 (1971): 273-84. Youtie, H. "The Kline of Serapis." Harvard Theological Review 41 (1948): 9-29. Zambrano, M. "Dreams and Literary Creation." In E. von Grunebaum, ed., The Dream and Human Societies, pp. 189-98. Berkeley, 1966, Zock, H. "The Psychohistorical Method." In A Psychology of Ultimate Concern: Erik Erikson's Contribution to the Psychology of Religion, pp. 123-54. Amsterdam, 1990.
Index
allegorical interpretation, 81-83, 110 Aipers. Κ., 18 Angus, S., 145 anima, 93-98, 115, 118, 124 Aphrodite, 83, 85, 86? 88-93, 96, 97, 100, 102, 112, 115, 116, 119, 120, 122, 124 Apollo, xii, 43. 112 apports (dream), 33, 56 Apuleius, 17-19, 57, 58, 72, 93, 94, 110, 123. 124, 127, 134, 138, 145 archetypal dreams, 6, 7, 9, 71, 77, 93, 99, 105, 109-11 Aristides, 41-48, 146 Aristomenes, 7, 8, 53-59, 7 2 , 7 4 Aristotle, 110 Artemidorus, 38-41, 48, 136 Asclepius, 32, 33,41-47 Augustine, ix, χ, 18
conversion, 127, 129, 130, 132, 133, 136, 137 Cooper, Gail, 24 creativity, 97, 98, 100 Cumont, Franz, 128, 139, 141 curiosity, 23, 87, 108, 109, 113, 114, 120, 129 DeFilippo, Joseph, 22, 23 deification, 108, 121-23, 127, 141, 142, 147 demons, 2, 71 Devereux, George, 15 devil, 2 dimensions of dream reference, 6, 7, 12, 69-77 divine dimension, 6, 7, 10, 11, 37-39, 41-48,71,77, 111, 122, 123, 146 divinization. See deification Dodds, E., 44-47, 138, 146 Doniger, Wendy, ix double dream, 34, 57, 68, 69, 76 Drake, Gertrude, 132 dream incubation, 32-35, 66, 67, 118, 135, 146 dream interpretation (rules), 111-12
baker's daughter, 7, 9, 66, 67, 75, 76 Barchilon, Jacques, 84, 88-90 Behr, C„ 47 Bettelheim, Bruno, 85, 86, 88-90 Bleeker, C., 138, 141 Bouché-Leclercq, Α., 48 Brown, Ronald, 26, 59 Bulkeley, Kelly, ix, 15-17 Burkcrt, Walter, 138 Byrrhena, x, 109
Ebel, Henry, 2 Edel, Leon, 4-6 Edelstein, Ε. and L., 31 Eitrem, S., 142 Eliade, Mircea, 138, 142, 143 Eros, 8L105, 107-25 Eros and Psyche myth, xi, 7, 9, 25, 26, 61,64,81-105, 107-25
Campbell. Joseph, 82, 143 Candidus, 7, 10 character transformation, 130-33 Chante, xi, 7-9, 61-67, 72-74, 76 collateral phenomena. 129 collective unconscious, 44, 96, 97, 101, 102 contradictories, 7, 9, 63. 72 contraries. See contradictories
Festival of Laughter, 113-14 Festugière, Α., 44, 46, 47, 127, 128, 144, 145, 148 Fotis, χ, 120, 130, 131, 133
172
173
Index Freud, Sigmund, ix, 4, 14, 15, 39, 58, 62-64, 70, 82, 84, 87, 88, 101 Fulgentius, 81-82 Galen, 35-37, 48, 70 Ganymede, 121 Gestalt dreamwork, 70 Ghost, 7, 9, 65, 67, 73, 74 God/gods. See divine dimension Golden Ass, ix, χ Griffiths, John, 17-18, 26, 127 Grimai, Pierre, 19,21 Haggs, Tomas, 24 Haight, Elizabeth, 1, 18, 21 hallucinations, 83 Hijmans, B., 73 Hildebrand. G., 82 Hillman, James, 97, 98 Hippocratcs, 35, 36 Hoevels, Fritz, 86-90 Holzberg, Ν., χ Hooper, Richard, 26, 143 Horns, 122, 123, 139 Houston, Jean, 99-101 Hunt, Harry, 153 individuation, 92-94 Isis, xi, 7, 10, 24, 35, 67, 71, 74-77, 92-94, 98, 108, 110, 118, 121-24, 128, 132, 133, 135-45 James, Paula, 109 James, William, 125-30, 133, 136, 138, 143, 144, 146, 148, 154 Johnson, Luke, 128 Johnson, Robert, 98, 99 Jung, Carl, 3, 82, 91, 97, 101, 103, 113, 127, 134, 139, 141, 145, 147, 148, 154 Junghanns, Paul, 21 Kenny, Brendon, 24 Kerenyi, Karl, 108, 143 Kessels, Α., 13 Kilborne, Benjamin, 14 Kohut, Heinz, 146, 147
Labhardt, Α., 23 Lancel, S., 23 Lesky, Albin, 21 literary dreams, 13 Lucius, x, xi, 7, 65, 75-77, 92-95, 98, 107-25, 130-48 magic, x, 8, 53-61, 67, 87, 90, 100, 107, 109, 115-17, 120, 130,131, 139 Martin, Luther, 138, 139 Mayrhofer, C., 3 Meier, C., 44 Merkelbach, Rheinhold, 25, 108,122, 143 Meroe, 54, 58 messenger dreams, 39 Metamorphoses, story summary, x-xii Meurs, J. Van, 4 Mithras, 140 moon, 133-35 mother archetype, 93, 97, 102, 115, 118, 124 mystery religions, 128, 131, 138, 142, 143, 145 mystical union, 91-93, 95, 97,124, 129, 143-46 myth/dream, 9, 12, 82, 93, 107-25 Nethercut, William. 24 Neumann, Erich, 91, 92, 101, 115, 121,
122 Nock, Α., 127 Norwood, Frances, 21, 25 objective dimension, 6, 7. 70, 73,74, 119-20 Osiris, 7, 10, 11, 24, 68, 69. 74,75, 92, 127, 138, 139, 142 Pamphile, x, 107, 131 past dimension, 6, 7, 70, 74, 120 Penwill, J., 109 Perry, Ben, x, 20, 21 Persephone, 95, 107, 114, 117 phenomenological method, 129, 147 Platonism, 22, 23, 132 Pliny, 63
174
The Religious Dreamworld ofApuleius'Metamorpho\<ν
Plutarch, 141
prceognitive dimension, 6-11, 39, 40, 62-64, 68, 70-73,75, 121, 137 present dimension, 6, 7, 70, 75, 120 proxy dreams, 34, 43 Psyche, 81-105, 107-25 Psyche's sisters, 89, 91, 94, 96, 100, 102, 113, 116, 117, 119, 120 Psyche's tasks, xiii, 90,91, 94-96, 99, 120, 121 psychic dreams, 66, 67, 76 psychology of religion, 127, 129 puer aeternus, 94 Rank, Otto, 82 Reardon, B., 143 religious experience, 125, 127-48. See also mystical union and religious initiation religious initiation, 92-94, 108, 121, 122, 127, 131, 133, 138-46 Riklin, Franz, 83, 88, 90 Robertson, D., 19 Rubino, C.,21 Sandy, Gerald, 23, 128, 144 Scazzoso, P., 25 Schlam, Carl, 22, 26 Schroeder, J., 84, 88-90, 110 Scobie, Alex, 20, 108 self-archetype, 91, 95, 97, 103, 124, 148 Serapis, 47, 138, 141 Seth, 24, 132 shadow, 117, 119 shared dream. See double dream Shumate, Nancy, 23, 25, 128, 132 sibling rivalry, 86 Smith, Jr., Warren, 18
Socrates, 8, 54-58, 72 somatic dimension, 6-8, 35-37, 39, 56, 69-70, 72 sou] (and dreams), 37 spirit world dimension, 6, 7, 9, 10, 66, 67,71,73,76, 77 Stephenson, William, 24 subjective dimension, 7, 39, 57, 70, 72, 73 Summers, R., 138 Tatum, James, ix, 107, 131, 132 Tedlock, Barbara, 14 telepathic dimension, 6, 7, 10, 71, 76 Tertullian, 37, 38, 48 Thelyphron, 7, 8, 6 0 , 6 1 , 7 4 theorematic dreams, 40, 68 Thrasyllus, 7, 9, 62, 65, 66, 73, 74, 76 Tlepolemus, 7, 9, 61, 62, 65, 73, 75, 76 tokens (dream). See apports Trembley, Jan, 108 Tylor, E., 146 Ulanov, Ann, 95, 101, 117 Van der Paardt, R., 18, 20, 108 Voluptas, xiii, 88, 90, 91, 95, 97, 98, 100, 102, 103, 123 Von Franz, M.-L., 57-59, 93, 101, 109-10, 117, 119, 121, 123, 124 Walsh, P., 22, 108, 144 Winkler, John, x, 19, 26, 27, 59 wisdom, 139 witches, x, 7, 8, 54-61,72, 87, 88, 131 Wlosok, Antonie, 18, 22 Zeus, 121
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